


Forest Mix

by KChasm



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: CYOA transcript, Fluff, Humor, Isekai, Minimal plot planning, POV Second Person, Slice of Life, low stakes, quest transcript, unbearable protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChasm/pseuds/KChasm
Summary: Join Christie Christoferson, an otherwise normal girl who finds herself in the Land of Fantasy and Illusion, Gensokyo, as she...Well, she doesn't do much, to be honest.(A transcribed, edited version of a quest/CYOA I run on the touhou-project.com imageboards. Expect only technical quality here.)





	1. In Gensocione Expergis

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed the notice, I'll give it again.
> 
> What we've got here, basically, is a transcription of a quest that I run on an imageboard. Basically, I write a bit of story, give choices, and every Anonymous Q. Public is free to vote on what they want the protagonist to attempt next. I've taken out the choices here, though—since there'd be no point to them—and I've edited the contents to fit more in line with my present-day writing quality, which is different enough to matter to me.
> 
> Alright, that's your warning. Good luck!
> 
> ...Hey does anyone here know Latin?

Ya wake up.

Okay, so wakin' up's not the weird part. Ya do it all the time, actually. Wakin' up is your bread and butter, by which what you're tryin' to say is thatcha wake up, and then ya eat some bread and butter before ya jet out the door so ya don't get later than the late ya already are. A long time ago you were all—cereal! Toast! OJ! All part of this balanced breakfast—but ya always ended up bustin' into where you were supposed to be just in the nick of time even when ya got up early to bother with toast prep, so ya nixed it. It's not like ya  _need_  something in your stomach anyway, in the mornings. It's all preference. Like shampoo.

So wakin' up's not the weird part.

Wakin' up in a forest, though? When you're something like ninety-nine percent sure you didn't go to sleep there?  _Totally_  weird. Good thing you've got a system.

First things first—gotta check for immediate complications. Ya feel around for stitches you don't remember gettin' and come up empty, which means ya  _prolly_  still have your kidneys.[1] Or was it your liver? Either way, they're all three prolly still in ya, unless someone's figured out how to do stealth surgery, which is a legit concern but not one you can do anything 'bout right now. Your heart's still beatin', so ya haven't been turned into a zombie or a vampire or a zombie vampire or anything like that[2]— _prolly_ , again. Your vision's keen, and when ya say, "Testin' testin'," it's as clear as it oughta be which takes care of hearin' and vocals all at once.

Anything else?

Your head feels fine, which means nobody clocked ya when you weren't lookin'—though that would've meant one mystery down. Ya run through the vitals anyway. You remember where ya grew up and where ya went to school. Ya know your mom's name and your dad's name and the names of a whole lotta other people related to you. And of course ya know—

Wait.

Whoa, hold on. What's your name again?

Christie Christoferson! It's **Christie Christoferson**. Yeah, that's it. Whew, you got mega-worried for a second. This whole forest-wakin'-up thing musta addled you more than ya thought, if you went so far off somewhere that you forgot your own name.

It's your  _name_. If you forget that, something's hecked up but sure.

So that's taken care of. You're up to snuff, or at least as much as you can figure without X-rays and a second opinion. Now the only thing botherin' you—alright, the  _biggest_  thing botherin' you—is the sitch you've got on your plate now. The whole in-the-forest deal. Not thatcha mind still havin' your fingers attached, but just checkin' the status of your digits doesn't solve  _that_  problem, does it?

No, it doesn't.

Alright, time for a Super In-Depth Christie Christoferson Review. You're in a forest. Ya don't know what forest, or even how ya got here—no footprints, no drag marks, no tire tracks, nada. Maybe you can work your way forwards by rememberin' what happened before—but naw, that's no good, either. Not thatcha can't remember it, because ya totally can. It's just that whatcha remember is catchin' a coupla zed on the couch, which aside from bein' super-mysterious is also super-gallin' because maybe if you'd gotten that coke like you'd planned to ya wouldn't _be_ in this mess. They say all that stuff 'bout acids and rat poison and caffeine dependency but the truth is that coke  _saves lives_.

Or at least pants.

From grass stains.

Ya stand up, and you're super-mega-glad you're wearin' jeans. And not fashion jeans, but jean jeans. Nobody expects clean clean from jean jeans.

"Let's get this show on the road," ya sorta mumble-mutter, and there's not actually a road but ya do what you can do, which is walk.

* * *

Okay, you're not stupid, right? Ya dunno forests, but you've been in a dentist's office once or twice and they've always got those little pocket-sized 'zines lyin' around with articles like "I Oughta Be Dead" or "How'm I Alive" or "Seriously, I Was Yay Close to Bitin' It" with the narrator eager to chime in on what stupid thing J. Q. Victim's done this week. Oh, there's a shark on your leg? You're supposta ruffle the gills![3]  _Everyone_  knows that!

There's forests, too, in those stories. Actually, a lot more forests than sharks. And the number one thing they always laugh 'bout in the stories 'bout forests is that Mx. No-Brains didn't  _stay effin' put_.

Yeah, so, ya  _know_  that. You're not a moron. But the thing is—that whole thumb 'bout stayin' put only works out if  _people know where ya are_. 'Cause then they'll actually be  _searchin'_  for you, and if you're on the move chances are you and the bloodhounds are gonna keep missin' each other by inches like in that music video[4] where every new beginnin' comes from some other beginning's end.[5]

And you fell asleep on your couch, so that's not the issue here.

Prolly.

So here ya are, walkin', most likely walkin' in  _circles_  'cause the moss grows on all sides of the trees and the moss was never gonna help anyway, and the leaves are too leavesy so ya can't follow the sun, and if ya die here from dehydration or starvation or animal attack like in those dentist stories you're gonna be kinda  _royally pissed_.

Also, something's followin' you.

Ya glance on over to the right, bein' all sneaky in not movin' your face when you do that. Yeah, there it is, past that bunchload of trees—whatever "it" is. It's round, and dark, and black and sphery, and floatin' 'bove the ground 'bout the diameter of a good TV set.

Ya stop. The TV ball stops.

Ya walk again, and the TV ball follows.

Ya don't know what that is, but floatin' black sphere thingies gettin' involved never turned out a good development for anyone, past the black sphere thingies themselves, maybe. You're sure of this. Like, ninety-seven percent sure. Floatin' white sphere thingies, or light-colored sphere thingies, even? That's a coin flip. But black sphere thingies are bad news through and through, no cuts about it.

So whaddya gonna do 'bout this one?

You're gonna talk to it.

That's the smart thing to do.

No, but seriously—when floatin' black sphere thingies get involved, things get pear-shaped. It's a fact. Ya check it out on the 'pedia and it'll say "floatin' black sphere thingies and situational pear-shapedness causation's a thing" and there'll be something like a bajillion little numbers in brackets after that. It's a fact. It's an independently verified  _fact_.

And this floatin' black sphere thingy is followin' you, which means it's  _already_  involved, which means things are gonna get pear-shaped no matter whatcha do.

_And you're not gonna be the one who hecked it up._

It's like in that starship show. Every time those alien dudes showed up, ya knew they were up to no good, and the good dudes knew they were up to no good, and the alien dudes knew everyone else knew they were up to no good, but everyone still had to treat 'em right 'cause  _that's what the good dudes do_. [6] Goodwill and good faith and all that stuff. So you're gonna try to shake hands with this floatin' black sphere thingy, even though there's no hands to shake, and it's gonna try to steal your soul or possess ya because  _that's what floatin' black sphere thingies do_ , and when that happens you're gonna punch it in the surface area.

But not a moment before that.

Because  _that's what good dudes do_. And you're as good as the best of 'em, maybe.

The TV ball stops when ya make a veer towards it, like it didn't 'spect that. You tromp through the leafy bits and put about another TV set between the two of you, but that's all. "How ya doin'?"

The TV ball says nothing. Just bobs there. au get a sense of "I'm confused" outta that—or maybe you're just  _anthropomorphizin' a floatin' black ball_. One or the other, prolly.

"Check it," ya say. "There I was, not here, right? Only now I  _am_  here, and that's totally not accordin' to plan. Ya know where I can find a map? Or a telephone?"

Still nothing.

"Telephone with a map in it? I'm not picky."

The floatin' black sphere thingy stops makin' like a cork and actually pauses, in midair. Like it's still confused, only it's set on doin' something 'bout that confusion. And then it says:

"I don't know what you're saying at all."

Only it says that in Japanese.

Because that's the language floatin' black sphere thingies speak, apparently.  _Japanese_. Not thatcha  _can't_  Japanese—you can Japanese just fine, which might be why whoever hauled ya into this forest hauled  _you_ , 'specially, maybe—but  _Japanese_? Really? It's like—you'da been more ready to go with it if you'd gotten some ununderstandable other-planet dialect, or something. But ya got  _Japanese_. And not just Japanese, but Japanese  _in a little girl's voice_.

The good news out all this is that this means you're either real close to home, or really far away. Or actually that could be bad news, too. Huh.

Right. Okay. You can switch it up. "Sorry," ya say, in the same language the floatin' black sphere thingy spake. "Look, I'm lost, dig? So I'm wonderin' if you've got a map tucked all up in your globe, 'cause that'd be a big help."

And the floatin' black sphere thingy just  _hangs there_. Hangs there and hangs there and you're startin' to think ya bluescreened it—uh, blackscreened [7]—when it says:

"I  _still_  don't know what you're saying at all. You say things weird."

_What._

"'Scuse me?" Ya stick your chin at this Avogadro project wannabe. "You got alotta business talkin' about 'say things weird' when ya don't even have a  _mouth_  to you." For serious.

The floatin' black sphere thingy goes back to bobbin', though it's faster now. Like it's got a cocktail shaker inside its insides. "That's rude. I  _do_  have a mouth. See?"

"All  _I_  see is the end of a game of eight-ball, you—spherical spheral sphery spheric spheriform  _sphere_!"

The thing stops in the air again. For a sec ya think you've pissed it off.

And then it says, "Sorry. I forgot again."

And the black bits  _fade away_ , leavin' right there, floatin' in front of your eyes like the weirdest set of flyin' flies you've ever seen—a little girl with blond hair.

A  _little girl_  with  _blond hair_.

 _Little girl_.  _Blond hair_.

_Floatin'._

"See, I have a mouth," says the  _floatin' blond-haired little girl_. She squints, all wobble-like. "Um, can I make it dark again? The light hurts my eyes."

"Yuss," ya mumble.

"Oh, good," says the  _floatin' blond-haired little girl_ , and she  _turns into a floatin' black sphere thingy again_.

Yeah. So. Ya might be on the line to a neat little freakout someplace in the not-too-distant future. FYI to yourself.

But hey—if devoing into a gibberin' wreck is gonna be a given, ya oughta get yourself to a soft place quick. Ya pull yourself together even while all the bits of you are kinda makin' like Sphere Girl here and floatin' off.

Metaphorically.

"Okay okay," ya say. "Okay okay okay okay. So ya  _got_  a mouth. Sorry 'bout that. I'm in a mean kinda jam and I guess I'm takin' it out on you. Ya think you can help a dude?"

"Dude?"

"Bro. Fellow. Guy.  _Me_." Ya thump your rib cage so to give the point. "I need to get a map or a phone, pronto. Ya know a place sportin' those kinda goods?"

The floatin' black sphere thingy  _who is also a girl_  tilts a bit, maybe, or maybe it's not tiltin' at all. Maybe it's just an  _impression_  of tiltin', like those walls with the black and white that look like they're trapezoids instead of rectangles[8] so your eyes keep followin' them down to where they've gotta be stoppin' 'cept of course they aren't, because whoever they put in charge of interior design was a  _douche_. It's like that now, only with a sphere instead of straight lines, and ya keep tryin' to eyeball where it is that the black stops bein' and starts bein' not-bein' at all, and you  _can't_.

"Marisa has a map," the floatin' black sphere thingy says, and ya guess it doesn't care it's got problems with its outline. "I see it through her window, sometimes. She writes on it."

"Great. Fantastic. So let's  _jet_ , dig? You lead the way."

The floatin' black sphere thingy doesn't lead the way. The floatin' black sphere thingy doesn't  _start_  to look like it might be leadin' the way anytime soon.

"I don't like Marisa," the floatin' black sphere thingy says. "I get blasted and it hurts."

And ya don't totally get what kinda activity "get blasted" has involved with it, but the verb's kinda descriptive on its own, right? This Marisa dude sounds like a real grade A dogbolt. Or grade Z. Whichever it is that means more dogboltness. Dogboltness. Dogboltedness?[9]

"So the map dude's a no go," ya say. "Yeah, alright. Whaddya got in the way of phones?"

The floatin' black sphere thingy pauses, and again ya get that tilty feeling. Then: "Oh!" it says. "I know! Rinnosuke has phones!"

Rinnosuke—that's a Japanese name. "Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Sphere Girl agrees. "I heard him talking about phones, once. I was hiding so he couldn't see me. You can't see me either, right?"

You can add one plus one easy-peasy without goin' through the rigamarole of a coupla dead Brit mathmen.[10] "So the black bubble deal's to hide ya from pryin' eyes," ya say. "Sounds like a neat trick."

"It's because I'm the Youkai[11] of Twilight."

"Uh-huh. So, ya mind leadin' me on to this Rinnosuke dude?"

"Sure!" says Sphere Girl. And she pulls a U-turn and clocks herself with the broad side of a tree.

* * *

So it turns out Sphere Girl can see out her eight-ball 'bout as well as you can see in, which is a twisty little way of sayin' she can't. She ends up lowerin' the opacity, but the end result's still kinda neat. It's like she's made of anti-lantern,[12] or something.

She's still floatin', of course, which is still all kindsa freaky—like, sorry, just gonna  _ignore gravity_  for a sec here—but you're headin' in the right direction so ya guess you can stand it for now.

"For now" only lasts till you get to the one buildin', though, 'cause one look at that thing and ya know you've got problems. When Sphere Girl said she'd lead ya to some Rinnosuke dude, ya 'spected you'd be outta the woods, not still in 'em. And this place? It's a Japanese kinda house with a sign in Japanese right over the door, and all kindsa junk heaped out in front, and it's  _still in the woods_ , and if there'd been a place this zany-lookin' set up in a forest near where you reside ya  _know_  you'da heard of it before. Which means—

Okay, hold on. If you're gonna go nuts, better wait till ya get a roof over your head. Ya do some tappin' on the front door. The  _door_  doesn't look Japanese, at least. It looks cottagey. Like something from one of those fairy tale storybooks—Little Red Ridin' Hood, and stuff like that. Some girl in the woods gets quote-unquote "help" from some hinky style of character, and when she finally ends up someplace she thinks is alright the wolf eats 'er.

Ya wonder how hard you can kick a wolf in sneakers. That's you in the sneakers, not the wolf. Your mom always griped at you for trackin' dirt into the house—well, who's gripin' now? Sleepin' with shoes on  _saves lives_.

Then Door Number One opens up and it's no car, but it's no wolf, either—just some sleepy-eyed dude with a pair of specs and hair that's snow white, which is a totally different story to begin with. "Welcome," he mumbles, wipin' as to get the eye boogers outta his face. "Can I help you?"

"Man, lemme tell you, you're what they call a sight for sore eyes." Though, thinkin' 'bout it, this dude's prolly had more sore eyes than you, with the whateversightedness he's got. "Alright lettin' me use your phone? I've gotta do some serious callage."

And  _speakin'_  of cars—ya mentioned a car, remember—the dude must still be zonked, the way his eyes keep _driftin'_ all over the place. "Phone?" he mutters.

"Yeah, phone. Dig it—I woke up in a forest, which was some kinda surprise to me, right? So now I'm lookin' for a phone so I can get  _out_  the forest, and this Twilight dude tells me you've got one in stock. So whaddya say, Mac?"

"Twilight? You—you woke up in the forest?"

" _Yeah_ , I woke up in the forest—what'm I, Narcissus?[13] Sheesh—"

And then the dude  _grabs ya by the arm and yanks ya into the place, slammin' the door behind 'im_.

"The  _shizz_?" ya yelp. "Leggo the goods, or I'll make your insides outsides!"

"You aren't aware of the danger you're in—"

" _You_ aren't aware of the danger you'll  _be_  in, if ya don't  _desist with the mitts_!" Ya manage to throw the dude's fingers off your shirt and make some distance, quick. "What's your problem, huh?"

The dude looks pissed off that you're pissed off, and that's makin' ya pissed off more. "You're an Outsider, aren't you?" he says. "That's why you didn't understand that girl's nature."

"Nature? What, ya mean—blond? Small? Floaty? The whole black sphere thing?"

"So you saw her fly and utilize her ability, and you didn't find that strange?"

Well, ya  _did_ , but it's not like you're gonna share that with Grabby McGrabhands here. "Only thing  _I_  find strange is the fact you're stuck on nature-nurture-public-freakouts[14] when all I want is a  _phone call_." You toss a look back at the door, at the girl who's the subject of this whole convo, but it turns out ya don't have X-ray vision. [15] Or something off for X-ray vision to bounce, which is prolly also important. "Okay, sure, she's blond, and  _that's_  weird, but only 'cause she spake Japanese first so it came outta the opposite direction, you know?"

"In other words, you didn't expect somebody who spoke Japanese to have blond hair."[16]

"Whoa, Mac, you're real good at  _repeatin' what I just said_. Ya practice for that?"

"The unusual hair color is understandable, however, given that youkai's abilities." And this dude—this Rinnosuke dude— _keeps talkin'_. "If a rich man is suddenly reduced to pennilessness, his condition will seem harsher that it would have had he been destitute his entire life. Similarly, darkness becomes all the more intense when contrasted against light."

"Wait, wait," ya say, puttin' your hand in the air in the universal "wait, wait" gesture. Ya know it's universal 'cause the dude wait-waits. "Alright, listen, Mac—ya lost me. And I don't mean took-the-wrong-turn-followin'-in-the-hedge-maze lost, 'cause that doesn't  _start_  to 'splain the proper lostness I've gotten into here. I mean, unless we're talkin' Kubrick, only that means I'm the alcoholic dad who dies and goes cuckoo.[17] And not even in that order."

"Yes, there are certainly aspects of that situation that need to be explained."

"Yeah, ya see, right? 'Cause I'm talkin' about  _blond_ , and you're talkin' 'bout darkness! Help me out, Mac."

The Rinnosuke dude sighs, givin' off a Look. Ya dunno what that Look  _means_ , but if there's a kinda look that needs a capital letter to it, this is the one that's it. "Are you familiar with the concept of 'youkai'?" he says.

Funny thing is, you're all set to dispense with the no-way-bucko when something twigs. "Those're those Japanese spooky story monsters, right? Alotta trolls[18] and long necks[19] and that one dude with the eye in his butt.[20] My mom used to tell me about the one dude with the eye in his butt—hey, hold on a tick." This dude's not sayin' what he's sayin' he's sayin', is he? "You're callin' that girl..."

The dude nods.

"But that's  _nuts_. She's a  _girl_. Or girllike. I mean, she was flyin'. And I guess she had that whole sphere thingy goin' 'round with 'er—holy shift, she's a  _youkai_?"

The dude nods again.

Ya look back again, and ya  _still_  don't have X-ray vision. "Man," ya say. "Man, that's  _cheatin'_. She didn't  _have_  horns or a long neck or anything like that. How's a dude supposta tell a youkai's a youkai if it hasn't got horns or a long neck? I mean, I guess she could have an eye in her butt..."

"She does not have an eye in her butt."

"Yeah, you can  _say_  that, but how can ya tell? Maybe she's got the whole outfit coverin' up the eyebutt."

"She does  _not_  have an eye in her butt." Rinnosuke starts makin' with the Look again. "That youkai has the ability to manipulate darkness, and this ability is the source of the mass of darkness surrounding her.  _That_  is why I mentioned darkness, and why it makes sense for her to have blond hair."

"Huh, so that sphere she's got with her—that's darkness?" Man, no wonder ya couldn't get a grip on it—it wasn't really a thing you could  _grip_. More like a zone. [21]

But zones are also cool.

"Okay, maybe I'm goin' cuckoo after all, but I've decided I'm gonna believe ya," ya say. "Still doesn't 'scuse the whole yanky bit. Can I let in whasserface now?"

"'Whasserface'?"

"Y'know, whasserface—the youkai." Seriously, when're ya gettin' X-ray vision? You were born on the wrong planet.[22] "Ya kinda kept her out while you were lettin' me in.  _Pullin'_  me in, actually. Can I let 'er in or what?"

The dude doesn't say stuff for a while. The dude just keeps on Lookin', and then he thumbs at the bit between his eyebrows. He's got kinda fine eyebrows. "What do you understand about the relationship between human beings and youkai?" he asks.

"Relationship?"

"What do you know," Rinnosuke says, "about the way human beings and youkai treat each other?"

You consider the question. "I don't think the one dude with the eye in his butt did a lot more to the other dude than just show 'im he had the eye in his butt."

" _Other_  than that one."

"Oh. Uh, beats me. I mean, I know oni've got the—"

Ya do some horn-throwin' off your forehead.

"—and I know  _someone's_  got the long neck somewhere, but besides that all I can mostly remember is just the one dude—well, y'know, right?"

"Yes," says Rinnosuke. And then he says, "It is in the basest nature of a youkai to attack human beings."

"And by 'attack,' what you're sayin' is..."

"Kill and devour, in Rumia's case."

Ya hitch a thumb back where your X-ray vision wasn't. "Rumia?" ya say, and when the dude affirms, "She was up for eatin' me? I mean, yeah, I know I said I was gonna believe ya, but—seriously? 'Cause for someone up for eatin' me, she did a whole lotta not-eatin'-me."

"When a youkai discovers a lone human in the Forest of Magic, the outcome is swiftly decided, more often than not. I can't imagine why Rumia deviated from her usual behavior..."

"It's because she didn't run away."

And the voice comes over from a direction that  _doesn't_  have a door to it, and ya check out the familiar kind of sphere bobbin' up and atcha from the next room.

"People run from me when I see them," Rumia says, "so I chase them down and eat them. But she didn't run from me, so I couldn't chase her."

The dude you've been chattin' with looks mega-stressed. "How did you get in?" he asks.

"The window was open."[23]

Rinnosuke makes a sound like swearin' is something beneath him, only just sorta kinda  _technically_  beneath him, and starts stompin' off in a prolly windowy direction. He's nearly outta where you're at when he stops, turns, and points.

"No eating the customers," he says.

Rumia looks at you. "Are you buying something?"

" _No eating anybody in this shop._ "

And  _then_  he's out.

Ya stand there in the room where Rinnosuke's left you, Rumia doin' her own "standin'" right next to ya. Now that your danger of bein' strong-armed's gone down—prolly—you've got the time for lookin', and this place has definitely got alotta stuff to do that at. There're shelves, and the shelves have stuff on 'em, but the stuff that's on the shelves doesn't seem to have any kinda system goin' on with 'em. There's a crowbar over there, but it's right next to a beaten-up toaster, and  _that's_  next to a funky-lookin' candelabrum—not to mention all the stuff set up out on the floor where shelf's run out. It's like the dude—Rinnosuke—heard he had company comin' over all of a sudden and had to scramble.

Ya totally sympathize.

Still, with the stuff on the walls, and the stuff on the floors, the whole place's got a kinda "trash heap" appearance more than—what'd the dude say? "Shop." And you'd do some bettin' that the room over is just as bad, judgin' by the sounds comin' over—like Rinnosuke's climbin' over the Kangchenjunga[24] of junk. Kangchenjunka? Does that mean anything in Tibetan?

The _mutterin'_ sounds Tibetan. Though that's prolly 'cause you're hearin' it through the junk. And the walls. "Rinnosuke's a high-strung kinda dude," you observe.

"Mm-hmm."

Finally, the dude returns, and the dust in his hair makes ya suspect ya weren't that off 'bout the Himalaya. You're wonderin' what kinda freaky windows he's got here when he says, "I've brought you a phone."

Now,  _that's_  what you're talkin' 'bout! "Well, c'mon, Mac, whaddya waitin' for?" ya say. "Dispense the goods, already!"

And the goods are dispensed.

And the goods, it turns out, are a cracked plastic brick with a knobby antenna[25] and a scratched up screen that prolly hasn't lit up since the eighties.[26]

Ya look at Rinnosuke.

Ya look at the phone.

Ya look at Rinnosuke.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me." 

* * *

1 Mikkelson (2001) dates the urban legend featuring a drugged victim who wakes to find that one or both of their kidneys have been stolen back to at least 1991, theorizing an origin in reports of a Turkish man having had a kidney harvested in Britain; though the man claimed the procedure had been carried out unwillingly on his part, the discovery of his having previously placed an advertisement in a Turkish newspaper offering to sell one of his kidneys eventually came to light. Organ theft is not wholly fictional, however (Hymon, 2003; Joyce, 2012).[return to text]

2 The spread, often through bite, of certain bloodborne pathogens resulting in the victim taking on characteristics of the original host and possibly spreading the pathogen further in turn has long been a subject of interest (Bergerman & Walker, 1935; Hardman, Streiner, & Romero, 1968; Stoker, 1897/2013). Surprisingly little research, however, has been carried out regarding what effects these pathogens might have on each other. That said, Wong and Ruben (2010) have made some inroads into the matter through focusing primarily on the aspect of zombiism. [return to text]

3 Chistoferson is perhaps not entirely correct. In a symposium regarding the subject in part, Davies recommends punching a hypothetical shark in eye, and while Fry notes the gill as an acceptable alternate target, he, too, recommends punching, rather than simply ruffling (as cited in Lorimer, 2010). [return to text] 

4 See SemisonicVEVO (2009). [return to text]

5 "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end": Wilson (1997/1998, track 1). [return to text]

6 For example, see Taylor & Chalmers (1991). [return to text]

7 While black does not seem an inexplicable color for use in indicating failure to further function, similar use of the color blue only gained popularity with the advent of the digital age; for example, see Windows 95 (1995). For a contemporary use of black in a similar purpose, see "Pokémon Red Version" (1998). [return to text]

8 See Pierce (1898), and perhaps in particular Gregory & Heard (1979). [return to text]

9 "Dog bolt," that is, “a worthless person, a wretch, a knave” (“dog bolt, n. and adj.,” 2010). A cursory search for the word “dogboltness” elsewhere bears no results, while “dogboltedness” returns only a reference to a beer called “Dogbolter” (Christie, 2013). Presumably, both extensions are inventions of Christoferson. [return to text]

10 See Whitehead & Russell (1910-1912). [return to text]

11 Also romanized “yōkai,” the word is “variously translated as monster, spirit, goblin, ghost, demon, phantom, specter, fantastic being, lower-order deity, or, more amorphously, as any unexplainable experience or numinous occurrence” (Foster, 2009, p. 2). [return to text]

12 Similar attempts of this sort to negate light have generally failed, though limited successes have been seen in cases where the emitted light fell within specific wavelengths to begin with. In Wolfman (1982), for example, participants were able to render light with a predominant wavelength between roughly 495 and 570 nanometers ineffective. This achievement was only temporary, however, and of yet remains unreproduced. [return to text]

13 By allusion, Christoferson compares her newest encounter to Echo; see specifically Book III, lines 359-401 of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_.  [return to text]

14 "Culture vultures' sculptures, nature nurture / Public freak-outs, if you got a problem, find me, speak out, speak out": Das Racist (2010, track 2, 2:09). [return to text]

15 There exists a possibility that X-ray vision might fit the emission theory model of visual perception as per fragment 84 of Empedocles and Plato’s  _Timaeus_  rather than our current understanding. If so, research into anomalous electromagnetic radiation penetration indicates that desired results may be achievable (Spengler & Donner, 1978). [return to text]

16 For continuing research regarding, in part, apparent occurrences of low pheomelanin and eumelanin levels in Japanese individuals, see “Implausible Hair Color” (n.d.). [return to text]

17 Christoferson alludes to the infamous Overlook Hotel incident, wherein winter caretaker Jack Torrance (incidentally a recovering alcoholic) apparently succumbed to cabin fever and proceeded to terrorize his wife and five-year-old son before losing his own life when the hotel's boiler exploded (King, 1977/2001). A theatrical adaptation of this incident was later produced, directed by Stanley Kubrick (1980); however, this adaptation significantly departed from actual events. Note Christoferson's mention of a "hedge maze," which alludes to an event invented for the theatrical version specifically. [return to text]

18 Possibly oni. Though they are often described as Japanese ogres or demons, Christoferson’s word choice holds cromulence; see, for example, Weinstock (2014). [return to text]

19 In reference to rokurokubi; see Joly (1912). [return to text]

20 The shirime; see Murakami (2005). [return to text]

21 See Serling (1959-1964). [return to text]

22 See Spengler & Donner (1978), in particular the otherplanetary origin theory described in relation to anomalous electromagnetic radiation penetration. Though opportunities for further research through this approach are lacking at best, findings in Goodman & Riba (1997) show some support. [return to text]

23 Anders provides an analysis of the use of windows as points of accessibility (as cited in Darby, Johnson, Bamberger, & Kriegman, 1991-1994). [return to text]

24 The third highest mountain in the world, located in the Himalaya (Freshfield, 1903). [return to text]

25 The first commercial handheld cellular phone, the Motorola DynaTAC 8000x, saw availability in 1983; it “weighed 1.75 lb., stood 13 in. tall, stored 30 numbers, took 10 hours to recharge and cost $3,995” (Ha, 2010, para. 1). Due to its weight and size, it was referred to as the “brick” phone, a moniker later applied to older-generation and larger phones in general (Green & Haddon, 2009). Presumably, the phone offered Christoferson would find company under that umbrella. [return to text]

26 For an analysis of the correlation between a lack of access to functioning mobile phones, i.e. mobile phones with which a user would be able to make and receive telephone calls over a wide geographic area, and ensuing injury and/or death, see Juzwiak (2009). [return to text]


	2. Omnis Circulus Fili Tibi Lengendus Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why in goodness' name did I give my protagonist such a thick narrative accent? It's not supposed to be a condescending class thing, i swear. That said, if you ever meet two-thousand-and-thirteen-me, sock 'im in the shoulder for present-me anyway—will ya?

Day whatever and you're startin' to go stir-crazy.

Rinnosuke—Rinnosuke Morichika, 'cause that's his name—is pretty cool in some ways and not so cool in others. Once ya carefully explained the unusability of what he was offerin' ya— 

* * *

"I ask for a phone and ya give me a relic from the  _Precambrian_ , ya  _spec-eyed sucksack_ —"[1] 

* * *

—and it got ultra-clear to the party in need (i.e., you) that this place was lackin' in any conveniences—

* * *

"—landline, even—y'know, plug in one end, dial from the other? This ringin' any Graham Bells?"[2]

* * *

—he was enough of a real  _dude_  dude to sit down and lay out the whole welcome-to-Gensokyo-oh-by-the-way-there-are-ghoulies-and-ghosties-and-long-leggedy-beasties-here-don't-get-chomped spiel.[3]

Ya took it pretty well.

* * *

" _What the fridge is wrong with this place?_ " 

* * *

So now you're in Oz, and Dorothy at least got some kinda transition to let 'er know it was adventure time (even if the dude reportin' it couldn't tell between tornadoes and cyclones).[4] You? You took a  _nap_ , and now you're stuck in a shack with a shopkeeper who's so good at keepin' shop he hasn't given any away since ya got here and a little monster who wouldn't mind crackin' open your cap to fix herself some brain food.

Wait, wait. Better make sure that. "Yo, Rumia."

Rumia looks up from ponderin' some ribbon-tied box. "Hm?"

"Ya still wanna eat me?"

Rinnosuke, sittin' over at his desk, slips with the burned-out light bulb he's been investigatin' for the last ten minutes. It bounces off the tail end and he makes a crazy awesome lunge, narrowly avoidin' havin' a problem happen across the shop floor. Then he does a glare stare at  _you_ , like it's your fault he's butterfingers.

Rumia doesn't even notice. "Mm-hmm," she nods.

"Cool," ya say. Well, not  _cool_. But honest. And that's sorta cool. In that honorable-anti-hero sorta way.

Maybe.

Point is, where you're sittin'? Not so comfy, at the mo.

The savin' grace here is how you're gettin' out. Dorothy had to wade through a whole lotta dumb before they let 'er back to Kansas—a hundred percent more witch murder and flyin' monkeys than anyone needs, ever[5]—but it looks like escapin' Gensokyo's more like catchin' the right bus. Only this is the weird side of town and they've only got one stop. And when ya went to check out the schedule it just had "whenever we feel like it" scrawled out across the whole thing. Probably also in all caps.

Metaphorically.

And plus between Rinnosuke jawin' and Rumia floatin', what you've got outta anything anyone's said is that you're gonna need someone to hold your hand if ya wanna get to the bus stop, on account of all the here-be-lions in between there and here,[6] and with Rinnosuke he's not offerin' 'cause he's some kinda shut-in, and with Rumia you're not acceptin' because seven steps from the door[7] and she'll see what you're made of.

Not metaphorically

Dorothy went through a whole host of bull, but ya guess ya wouldn't mind a coupla Silver Shoes right about now yourself.[8]

Okay, okay, what you're sayin' aside, Rinnosuke's not  _all_  bad. You've definitely got ish with the lack of finger-liftin' in gettin' you to point B, but the dude's lettin' ya stay at the shop till something pops up, and that's the sorta generosity you've gotta appreciate. Seriously! Ya don't even hafta  _do_  anything for the guy in return. Maybe the dude's a saint behind those antisocial tendencies. They have Japanese saints, right? At least nineteen outta twenty-six.[9]

Or maybe the dude just wants company. Doesn't matter—as long as he lays out the sheets and makes with the eats, it's all gravy.

Well, 'cept for the stir-craziness. That's not so good. "Yo, Mac," ya call out. "Ya  _do_  get visitors here, right?"

"The answer is still the same." Rinnosuke doesn't even look up this time, and ya can't tell if he's lyin' or what. Other than you and Rumia, this place has been  _dead_.

"Hey, Kourin!"

And then the door flies open and some lady in witch duds comes bustin' in like it's to the sound of uproarin' applause.[10]

Whoa.

"I bet ya missed me, right? 'Cause I haven't been around in a while." The witch—'cause of course she's a witch—bustles around like she owns the place, parkin' her broom in the corner—'cause of course she's got a broom—and makin' herself comfy in one of the shop seats. In one hand she's holdin' some kinda little vial high up, like she's tense something's gonna jostle it.

More important than that, she's makin' like she doesn't even notice you while she's talkin'. And that's just bruisin'.

"Anyway, I found something nice yesterday and wanted to show ya. Ya could've found it yourself, if you left your shop more often."

Rinnosuke's got on the pokerest of poker faces. Somehow you're thinkin' this is normal for him. "It _has_ been quieter than usual lately."

"I know, right?" the witch says. She shows off that vial to Rinnosuke, like—ta-da. "Look at this. Ya know what this is?"

"It's a vial," says Rumia.

And maybe the witch really  _didn't_  notice you, 'cause she nearly jumps right outta her boots. It's Butterfingers 2: Electric Boogaloo,[11] and you're definitely glad that vial's got a cap to it, 'cause it's gettin' fumbled all over the place.

And then she's pointin' something mystic-lookin' at the both of you and your sixth sense is makin' with the sirens and flashy lights and you're  _less_  glad.

"Hey, looks like ya got yourself an infestation while I was gone!" the witch says. "Want me to take care of it?"

Rumia's duckin' behind ya. Rinnosuke's lookin' from you and Rumia to the witch and back again and you've got the feelin'  _he's_  gonna be no help. Which means it's your load.

Like usual.

So ya beat down that itch you've got under your skin even while that mystic something's startin' to  _glow_ , and ya tilt your head back and stick out your chin, and whatcha say is this:

"Witchin' headwear, dude."

And you've gotta have Lady Luck[12] grinnin' over your shoulder, 'cause the light show's suddenly canceled and the witch goes, "Huh?"

"Headwear, dude,  _headwear_." Ya do the isosceles over your head. "I dig it. I totally do. I mean, you've got some serious witch legitness goin' on over there. Can I see?"

"Huh?" the witch says again. And then she says, "Ya want to look at my hat?" She's reachin' up to it as she talks, which is cool, 'cause that's includin' with the hand that's got the mystic thing in it.

"Yeah, dude, your hat! That's like the witchiest hat I've spied, and I get an eyeful every October,[13] y'know? C'mon, I wanna look. Please?"

Even with her footin' half defooted, this witch person still somehow manages to look like she's preenin' or something. Or half preenin'. She's preenin' with the half that's not on her foot. Or maybe the half that's not on her foot's just not on her foot and the other half that's on her foot is still on her foot but just also preenin' now. "Well, okay," she says, as ya get closer in a totally unsuspicious casual way. "It  _is_  a pretty good hat."

"It's not a  _good_  hat, it's an awesome hat. It's paragonin' hattiness. No, don't take it off, dude—there's no point checkin' out a hat without a head under it. Whoa, what's this made of, felt?"

"Felt? Naw, it's  _wool_. You can feel it, right? Made it myself—"

And that's when ya yank the brim straight down her face and kick out her ankle while she's busy squawkin' 'bout it. " _Jet_ , Rumia, the window!"

"Okay," says Rumia, and you've never seen someone hightail it lookin' so relaxed, but seriously, she does it.

Ya figure her for way gone by the time the witch even  _starts_  startin' to pick up herself. "You—what was that?" she yelps, and you've gotta wonder if ya went too far safeguardin' someone who wanted to eat your legs. Ya look at Rinnosuke, hopin' for some sign of the mood or something, but he's just frozen stiff at his desk like he just found out someone filled the room with tiny razor-sharp needles,[14] so _he's_ still no help.

You're just gonna keep on speedin' four bells[15] toward that wall, then. "That was a  _distraction_ ," ya say at the witch, and ya grin your grinniest grin.

"A distraction, huh?" Marisa's good at grinnin', too, 'specially once she's got that mystic something pointed the right way again. Or the  _wrong_  way, more like. Since it's at  _you_. "Got any more?"

"Not so much," you admit. Ya put up your dukes—

" _No fighting in the shop._ "

Ya put down your dukes, but not before the witch puts down her mystic something. Too bad. Though maybe there's a part of you that's actually kinda grateful Rinnosuke shut it down before ya got to the actual fighty bits. Ya don't know what that mystic something that witch's got is, but your head's got a bright idea 'bout standin' on one side of it and not the other.

Seriously.

The witch just looks straight up bummed out at the bout gettin' called off, though. Like she really did wanna show ya the light. She settles back to her seat and sighs, and then just sorta half-glare stares at you from somewhere off her eyemiddles. "So who are you, huh?" she says.

 _Witch._  "Chris Christoferson," ya say. "But don't call me C.C.,[16] or we're gonna have  _words_. You?"

"Kirisame Marisa. Just an ordinary magician."

Marisa? Oh, man, Rumia was right. This dude's  _totally_  a dogbolt.

"I didn't expect to see someone else at the shop, though," Kirisame Marisa says. Marisa Kirisame. One of those. "There's not a lot of humans with the guts to go this far into the forest. Did ya really need to buy something?"

"Christoferson is a guest from the Outside World," says Rinnosuke. Ya guess he's guessin' it's safe to speak up, now that no one's gettin' blasted. "Actually, Marisa, you might be able to help her. It seems she managed to pass through the Barrier somehow, and now she's eager to return home. Would you take her to the shrine? I'd go myself, but..."

"But ya don't want to, right? Man, Rinnosuke, you're real heartless. What were ya going to do if Reimu or I never stopped by?"

"Impossible. The two of you are always bothering me."

"Yeah, that's true, isn't it. Okay, sure, I'll take her over—"

And you're kinda lost between the banter but the you're-goin'-home gist is clear enough—

"—but first there's something I want to show ya, remember? I found this box out in the forest, and it had a lot of neat stuff in it—" Marisa starts suddenly lookin' worried. "Uh-oh."

"'Uh-oh'?" And now Rinnosuke's lookin' worried, too. Is this one of those demolitions-expert-haulin'-full-speed things?[17]

"That vial—I dropped it, when I got  _kicked_ —"

Marisa's outta her seat and searchin' with a whole lotta intent before ya can figure if that's jerkiness or not. Like serious, hands-and-knees intent. Peerin' under the furniture and everything. Rinnosuke even cranes his head up and over to help out, if you can call that "helpin'".

You're definitely  _not_  helpin', though. No way you're providin' the assist when the dude you're supposta be assistin' was pushin' some mystic something screamin' danger at you just seconds ago. In fact, you're gonna do the  _opposite_  of helpin', which is puttin' your seat on a seat and  _sittin'_. In the same place  _she_  was sittin', even, for max irony.

So ya sit.

And when ya sit there's this little sorta  _clink_  or  _clunk_  on the back of your sneakers, and that figures, right? Even when ya don't wanna find the thing, ya find the thing.

Looks like you're stuck playin' the better dude here. "Yo, Marisa," ya say.

Marisa's eyeball-deep into the ground floor of one of Rinnosuke's junk towers, and all you can think is that you're waitin' for a tragedy. You're talkin' 601 Lexington[18] here. "Yeah?" she says, sorta not-therely.

"Is this the thing?"

 _Now_  she's listenin'. And prancin' 'cross the place to snatch the thing from where your fingers've got it. You can see her all ultra-relieved when she sees it's still got the cap on. Actually, you're kinda surprised, too. That rubber's got a death grip.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah! This is it. See, this is what I wanted to show you. Ya know what this is?" And she's shovin' the thing at Rinnosuke's face again.

Rinnosuke's not so eager on that. "It's a vial," he says.

"It's not  _just_  a vial. I told ya I found a box in the forest, right?" Shove. "I couldn't understand the words but there were pictures, so that's good enough. This is going to be a homunculus!"[19]

And it's one of  _those_  silences.

Ya don't like those silences. "Homunculus," ya say, to fill it. "Like a little dude?"

Now it's  _you_  gettin' a tube at the face. "Exactly!" Marisa says. "I couldn't understand the instructions, but like I said, there were pictures. Molds, too, like if ya wanted your homunculus a certain shape, but I didn't like any of them so I worked it out myself with some stuff I had lying around. So when I pour this out it, should just turn into a little guy on its own—great, right?"

A month ago you'da bet on  _nuts_ , rather, but then it turned out magic was actually a thing. Still, something's real hinky 'bout this, like how the stuff in the vial looks more like the bottom of a cherry slushie than anything to make a dude from.[20]

"Yeah," ya say anyways. "Cool."

Marisa grins. Guess she thinks you're with her, alchemywise.

And then she pops the cap and pours the whole mess on the floor.

Rinnosuke makes a whole host of sounds. "Marisa!"

"Don't worry, don't worry. If there's a mess, I'll just have my homunculus clean it up."

"Your homunculus  _is_  the mess."

"I  _said_  don't worry! Any second now this stuff is going to become a homunculus. You'll see." Marisa leans over, lookin' over her sludge, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

"How long's it supposta take?" ya ask.

Marisa shrugs. "Don't know. Could be a while."

"There. Was that movin'?"

"Naw, I was breathing on it."

Rinnosuke sighs. "I'm going to get a cloth," he says, and makes for the next room.

Marisa looks over to where he's goin', then back at the sludge.

"There's still time."

"Sure," ya say. And 'cause you're nice, or maybe 'cause you're mean, you're all: "I think it's gettin' bigger."

"Hey." Marisa's mug goes TV-glare bright. "Hey, yeah! It  _is_  getting bigger! This is way better than any shikigami!"[21]

Shikiwhat now? Ya don't get to ask. You're  _aimin'_  to ask, but then the red mess surges like the world's smallest tsunami sloppin' at Marisa's kicks, and her steppin' back makes you think of steppin' back, too. 'Cause it  _is_  gettin' bigger, this stuff Marisa spilled. Like it was waitin' on your cue or something. It's gettin' bigger and it's  _movin'_.

Magic, man. Magic.

Wait—does alchemy count as magic?[22]

"So, how big's this thing gonna get?" ya ask.

"Huh?"

"How big's it gonna get—before it turns into a dude?"

"Uh..."

By the time Rinnosuke gets back with the stuff the thing is  _still_  not a dude. It is also makin' with the exponents, whichever exponents it is that mean waist-high and takin' up the entire other side of the room from where you and Marisa are currently campin' out. Rinnosuke takes a good, hard look at Marisa's Adam,[23] then at the two of you hidin' behind his desk, then makes a face so  _despairin'_  ya just feel kinda bad.

"Oh, hey, Rinnosuke." Marisa's still smilin'. Not as bright, though. "I think I might've got the stoichiometry[24] wrong, just a little. Nothing to worry about, right?"

"You're gonna need a bigger rag,"[25] ya say.

Rinnosuke looks at his cloth, like he's gotta make sure. Yeah, but seriously, that scrap he's got could  _maybe_  cover up one of the zits that keep on burblin' and poppin' over the thing's not-skin, but that's it. "Not-skin," 'cause it's red sludge through and through, and it smells  _foul_. 

"Marisa," Rinnosuke says, like he's drivin' a plane and the wheel just broke off in his hands, "Please remove your homunculus from the shop. It's making a mess."

"It's not making a mess. I mean, yeah, it's  _big_ , but it's not really  _messy_."

There's a sound kinda like a slime monster upendin' a shelf. It's a  _long_  sound, startin' out with  _crash-smash-shatter_  and diminuendoin' down to  _clink_.

"My  _toaster_!"

Ya take a quick look-see. "Your toaster's  _toast_ —Marisa,  _do_  something!"

"Okay, so it's a  _little_  messy," Marisa mutters, fumblin' 'round her pockets.

Doesn't take a whole lotta brain cells to guess what she's fishin' for. "What, you're just gonna blast it?" ya say.

Marisa stops fumblin', but only 'cause she's busy  _lookin'_  at you like ya grew an extra set of ears, which is prolly a nice trick, now that ya think about it. "Yeah," she says. "Ya got any better ideas?"

"I dunno. It's  _your_  slime thing, right? I mean, you made it. Maybe it'll listen to you." Actually, you're not sure that counts as a better idea, but it's too late for takebacks, 'cause Marisa's  _considerin'_  it.

And then she stands up. Outta cover.

"Hey! Listen to me! You, slimy thing— _listen_!"

She's nuts, you're thinkin'. But then it turns out the world's nuts, too, 'cause the slime monster  _stops burblin' and listens_. It even raises a pseudopodiumy thing outta itself, like a gopher stickin' its head out a hole.

Marisa glances at you, lookin' way pleased, then gets back to shoutin'.

"My name is Marisa Kirisame—and I am your creator!" And she's hammin' it up here, like she's readin' off the Decalogue[26] or something. "It is through my effort that you exist. It is through my  _will_  that you  _live_! So now, I command you—cease troubling this shop, and its inhabitants! Know your rightful place, as a servant before its master—"

And that's when the pseudopodiumy thing zooms forth, yoinks Marisa's hat, and unzooms back over there again.

"My hat!" says Marisa.

"Nice speech," ya say.

"It took my hat!"

"I think ya flubbed at that 'servant' part, though."

"It took my  _hat_!"

"It took my toaster," Rinnosuke says.

"No one wants to be a servant. It's degradin'."

"That's it!" And Marisa's pointin' that mystic something again, which means it's back to plan A. "I should've done this first, anyway—Love Sign—"

A  _second_  pseudopodiumy thing zooms forth outta the slime and whacks Marisa 'cross the hand like it caught 'er tryin' to sneak a pre-dinner chocolate chip.

The mystic something goes skitterin' down the shop floor.

"Huh," says Marisa.

And a  _third_  pseudopodiumy thing does some twistin' 'round Marisa's wrist—still stuck out in that I'm-gonna-blast-ya motion—and  _yanks_.

Marisa disappears yelpin' over the side of the desk.

 _That_  gets Rinnosuke into action. The dude vaults over the desk, shoutin' Marisa's name, and somehow manages to grab on the one Marisa-arm the slime monster hasn't got without gettin' got himself. That stops Marisa from goin' farther, but doesn't do a lot more than that, and there's still a whole buncha things whippin' 'bout the place. Looks like it's up to you to play tiebreaker.

Like usual.

Though you're kinda drawin' a blank on how to  _do_  anything here. Fightin' slime monsters isn't in your resume. "Hey, Mac—got a fire extinguisher?"

"What?"

"Fire extinguisher! Y'know, CO2—"[27] Something red and twistin' takes a go at Rinnosuke's leg—only _just_ missin'—and you decide to cancel the chem lesson. "Okay, what about flamethrowers? [28] Got any flamethrowers?"

" _Flamethrowers?_ "

"Okay, no flamethrowers—"

"The Mini-Hakkero! Get the Mini-Hakkero!" That's Marisa, havin' a bad time learnin' 'bout taffy and the makin' of. She's dispensin' instructions, and they sound mega-important, but ya don't understand 'em at all.

"What's a Mini-Hakkero?"

" _The thing I dropped!_ "

And that makes alotta sense, actually, 'cause how else're ya gonna fight magic 'cept  _with_  magic?

The mystic something—Mini-Hakkero, she calls it, like ya know  _regular_  hakkero—is just lyin' there past the desk. Ya grab it, thinkin' you're gonna get a whip snap 'cross the wrist like the first time anyone tried this, but it looks like all the monster parts are too busy tryin' to get Marisa totally et to figure you out. Rinnosuke's lost a shoe. You dunno how _that_ happened.

But who cares, right? You've got that Mini-Hakkero snatched, which means it's your turn to be on the right side of this magic stuff. "Yo, Big Red!" ya shout, standin' outta cover yourself.

The action stops. You've got all eyes in the room on ya, plus the eyes the slime monster hasn't got.

Ya grin, and brace for  _awesome_.

"Eat this."

And—

And all of a sudden it occurs to you that there's no button on this Mini-Hakkero thing. Or trigger. Or anything else obviously screamin' "fiddle with this to make with the blastin', already."

Also, that slime monster? Still slimin'.

"Look out!"

Ya duck, which only works out for you 'cause you're not wearin' a hat. Beyond ya—and just over—there's a  _splortch_.

"My  _dehumidifier_!"

"Marisa!" ya shout, "Where's the on button?"

" _On button?_ "

"I wanna make it boom!  _How do I make it boom?_ "

Marisa's givin' you her own cover of the Look, which is impressive considerin' she's gettin' straight up Armstronged[29] in the meanwhile. "You've got to say a  _spell_ ," she says.

"Abracadabra[30] alakazam[31]—hocus pocus,[32] Walla Walla Washington[33]—"

No dice. The next  _splortch_  not takin' your head off doesn't take it off by a little less. Ya make yourself real small on your side of the desk, eyin' those stuck pseudopodiumy things. "Marisa—"

"Ya can't just use  _any_ words!" says Marisa's voice. "They have to  _mean_  something!"

"'Walla Walla' means something!"

"It has to mean something to  _you_! Try Latin!"

"What?"

"Latin! Everything sounds powerful in Latin!"

So just  _soundin'_  powerful makes a diff? This magic stuff. "Fuego!"

" _That's not Latin!_ "

"I never  _learned_  Latin! Nobody learns Latin anymore! It's a  _dead language_ —" Behind ya, there's a sound like someone peelin' their lips off a water bottle, or maybe something gettin' unstuck off a wall. Ya squeeze your eyes.

Strike three.

"Omnibus!" ya shout. "Pax Romana! Ipso facto!  _Caveat emptor!_ "

There's a light, way too bright, way too cold. It smells like oil and old wood, or maybe that's something else smellin' like oil and old wood—you dunno, 'cause all ya  _do_  know is the light, shinin' through your eyelids, even. Shinin' through your  _head_. Fillin' you with some kinda mood like bein' at the top of the heap and  _knowin'_  it.

And then that fades off into wait-a-tick-what-the-hertz-just-happened, 'cause seriously, wait a tick, what the hertz just happened, and relatin' to that—how're ya  _not slimed yet_?

Ya open your eyes.

"Ugh," Marisa mutters. She's on the floor, sittin' with her limbs out from everything, like how a zombie would sit if zombies sat, or were zombies. You're totally not blamin' her, though, seein' as she's been redded. Like, redded  _completely_. Like someone found a river of red and made her a cherry Achilles, only with the state of her kicks you're thinkin' they got her feet alright, too.

And Rinnosuke's not a lot better. He's standin', at least, but he's just as redded as Marisa is. More redded, actually, 'cause he's got more outsides to red. Dude looks like he wanted to get into telepompin' and forgot he had a thing of gummy bears in with 'im.

'Cause the slime monster? The slime monster's  _everywhere_ , now, and now not so much the monster bit.

Rinnosuke tries wipin' his specs, only he's just wipin' off slime with more slime and that's just double slime. He ends up takin' 'em off completely and makes like maybe he's wishin' he hadn't. "My  _shop_ ," he moans.

'Cause that's redded too. "Say, Mac," says you, "did I do this?"

And it's a totally cromulent question, even though you're standin' in the middle of the only patch of not-slime that's in the place, which—seriously, you dunno how that happened—but Rinnosuke gives ya the glare stare anyways and that's totally not cool.

"Okay, I know what I did wrong," says Marisa, makin' a whole lotta squelchin' as she picks up herself. She whipflings a thing of stuff off her hand and it glorps into another thing of stuff that's there already. "I must've put in too much of that horse stuff."

"Horse stuff?" ya say.

"Horse stuff," says Marisa. "I wanted my homunculus to get strong, so I figured I'd add more of it. I was  _supposed_  to add that stuff to start with..." She does some trailin' off, smilin' weird, like she's almost kinda proud of what happened. Funny thing is, ya think ya get it. It's like—science, right?

Or something.

Rinnosuke's not so smiley, though. He's stumblin' 'round with the gunk finally off his specs, lookin' like he knew Edvard Munch. It's a seriously reasonable kinda pain, ya guess. That fan heater wasn't gonna rise again, but now with all the slime in its guts it's  _definitely_  not gonna rise again. Bummer.

"Yeah," says Marisa, still not sensin' the despair at all. "I'll get it next time. Where's my hat?"

"Toaster's wearin' it," ya say.

The hat's as redded as Marisa is, but she grabs it and puts it on anyways, still smilin' with all that stuff slimin' down the side of her head. Rinnosuke hugs up the toaster the sec it's unhatted, lookin' down at it like the weirdest version of Pietà ever.

"And my Mini-Hakkero?" says Marisa.

Right, right—that mystic something. You dispense  _that_  real careful.

Magic's crazy. You're decidin' that right now. A gun's got all those obviously movin' bits to it, so it feels almost kinda right, the idea of havin' it go boom. This thing? It looks and feels like just a  _thing_. Like you'd put it on top of a buncha real important papers to weigh 'em down, or something. And it made this whole place look a lot like a jelly donut's insides.

It's cool. It's totally cool. But ya don't know if ya like it.

"You did pretty good," Marisa says to you, shovin' the thing back in her duds. "I thought you were a regular Outsider—you're not a magician or something, are ya?"

What, for serious? "No way, dude. I didn't even know magic was a  _thing_  before I took the wrong kinda zed. Why?"

"Well, it wasn't real strong, and it definitely wasn't  _elegant_ , but what ya did—I didn't expect that out of someone using magic for the first time. Man, ya made a  _mess_."

"And who's going to  _clean it up_?"

Rinnosuke's got that toaster underarm. He's also not weepin' anymore, which you can see fine from the way he's got his face aimed at the two of you. He's also also askin' something important. Like, super-important. Ultra-important. Ya look at Marisa.

Marisa looks at you.

Then Marisa goes, "Uh," and jets.

"Marisa!"

"Sorry, Rinnosuke,  _real_  important stuff to do." Marisa snatches up her broom, which is still there somehow. Red and slimed, but still there. "Don't worry, this stuff's not dangerous or anything. I mean, I'm pretty sure you can eat it."

"Then it belongs on a plate, not on my  _walls_!"

"Sure, or a bowl," Marisa says, smilin' and noddin' like that can't be wrong, and then she's outta there while Rinnosuke's still tryin' to find his tongue. Ya do some watchin' as he gets to the end of Kübler-Ross, settin' his dead toaster down and to the side. And then he takes out that cloth, from back earlier.

It's slimed, of course.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work," ya say. Rinnosuke kinda jolts a little, like he didn't think you were gonna be there, which is weird 'cause where else were ya gonna be? "Ya got a mop or something? Broom?"

"In the other room, but I don't want to track—" The dude stops talkin', and then starts talkin' again. "You don't have to clean this up," he says, sorta slow. "This isn't your responsibility."

Ya snort. "It's totally my responsibility. I'm the dude that blew it up, right? That means not pitchin' in would be a mega-douche thing to do. What about buckets? Ya got buckets?"

Rinnosuke doesn't say he's got buckets, but he doesn't say he hasn't got buckets, either. He just stands there, that cloth balled up in his hand,  _starin'_. Starin' at you, to be specific. It's a real funny kinda look he's got, too—like maybe ya  _did_ grow that extra set of ears, or something.

Ya don't think ya  _actually_  grew an extra set of ears, but there's alotta stuff here ya didn't think was stuff—is what's gotten clear, all of a sudden. You're gonna hafta double-check later.

Right now, though, Rinnosuke's still makin' with the funny eyes, and it's startin' to alarm. "Yo—Mac. Ya all good in there?" ya ask.

Rinnosuke snaps out of it. He's still starin', but his eyes stop goin' through you. "'In there'?"

"In your head, y'know?" You tap yours, illustratin'. "Ya don't  _look_  like you're gonna fall down, but if you're gonna fall down, there's chairs here. I can getcha a chair, if you're gonna fall down. Ya fall down and there's no chair, you could bust yourself landin'."

'Cause everyone thinks that chairs are just for sittin' on, but ya know what's what. Cases like this, chairs  _save lives_.

But Rinnosuke's shakin' no. "My head is fine," he says. And then he says, "Weren't you going to go with Marisa?"

And that's a pretty good question.

Ya think on that, just for a bit.

" _Nuts._ "

* * *

1 Contrary to Christoferson, little evidence has been found placing mobile phones within the Precambrian Eon—while research has confirmed the existence of phones simultaneous with non-avian dinosaurs, even these phones only operated through landline connections (Jacobs & Young, 1991-1994).[return to text]

2 In reference to Alexander Graham Bell, inventor known for his advancements in telephone technology (“Alexander Graham Bell,” 2017).[return to text]

3The referenced poem (One accepted version: _From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties / And things that go bump in the night / Good Lord deliver us_ ) is of unclear origin—it has been claimed as "Cornish," "Scottish," possibly Welsh, nonspecifically "medieval," a "litany," a "prayer," a "proverb," and simply "a saying" (Radio London Limited, n.d.).[return to text]

4In reference to the travels of Kansan (later Ozite) Dorothy Gale, as reported by Baum (1899/2008; 1910/2008). Gale initially began her travels by accident, having been caught in a meteorological phenomenon that transported her, fortunately relatively unharmed, to the Land of Oz; critics have noted that said phenomenon, as reported, bears the characteristics of a tornado despite Baum's insistence on referring to it as a "cyclone" ("The Wonderful Wizard of Oz," n.d.).[return to text]

5In reference specifically to Dorothy Gale's initial travels in Oz, wherein she, among other activities, killed two witches (albeit accidentally) and was forced to contend with the second witch’s slave army of flying monkeys before discovering a method to return to her home in Kansas (Baum, 1899/2008).[return to text]

6Van Duzer (2012/2013), writing on the reflection of Western ideas regarding the geographic distribution of monsters, notes the placement of monsters and monstrous creatures occurring around the edges of known territory, lions included.[return to text]

7Possibly in reference: "Seven steps to the wall / And turn around / Seven steps to the window / Turn around / Three steps to the table—step around / Move the chair 'til it is square / And then sit down / Don't turn around" (Siberry, 1985, side A, track 2, 0:00).[return to text]

8Once again in reference to Dorothy Gale's initial travels to Oz—Gale procured a set of Silver Shoes from the corpse of the Wicked Witch of the East after inadvertently crushing her with her house; at the closing of Gale's journey, it was revealed to her that said Silver Shoes had the means to transport her wherever she wished to go, Kansas included (Baum, 1899/2008).[return to text]

9In reference to the Martyrs of Japan, a group of twenty-six Christian priests and laypersons martyred in Nagasaki, Japan in 1597; of the twenty-six individuals, nineteen were natively Japanese (Guiley, 2001).[return to text]

10The idea of an individual being able to trigger applause by passing through a doorway may seem ludicrous, but a nine-year study by Shapiro et al. (1989-1998) saw the development of a method that consistently created a positive response in a large body of human observers.[return to text]

11The jocular use of “Electric Boogaloo” to denote a sequel originated with the 1984 breakdancing film _Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo,_ produced by Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus and directed by Sam Firstenberg (Patches, 2014; Zimmer, 2007). [return to text]

12The contemporary personification of fortune as a goddess, following the Latin habit, is not a recent creation (“fortune, n.,” 1989). The French appellation “Dame Fortune” traces back to the beginning of the fifteenth century and the Spanish “Señora Fortuna” to 1619; “Lady Luck” is rare before the twentieth century, though “lady, n.” (2008) cites a use by Thomas More prior to 1535.[return to text]

13That is, on and around Halloween, a festival which occurs on October 31 and includes the custom of "trick-or-treating," a curious tradition wherein children, costumed and disguised, go door-to-door to ritualistically extort homeowners for sweets (Fieldhouse, 2017). One accepted guise is that of a witch (Mendelson & Melendez, 1966).[return to text]

14The placement of a large number of needles within a room—sometimes to the extent that those cromulently within see their movement threatened—is an established method of impeding or even eliminating unwanted intruders, especially in the United Kingdom where breaking and entering through chronological displacement is more common than in the United States (Letts, 1963-1989; Ridgewell, 2011).[return to text]

15That is, at full power. The term is naval, famously used during the American Civil War’s Battle of Mobile Bay by Rear Admiral David G. Farragut; though the exact wording is disputed, Farragut’s son, Loyall Farragut (1879/1882), provides, “Damn the torpedoes! Four bells! Captain Drayton, go ahead! Jouett, full speed!” (pp. 416-417). Over time, the quotation has been paraphrased and shortened to merely “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead” (Knowles, 1999/2001, p. 307).[return to text]

16Morotomi et al. (2006-2007) provide a data point in favor of the theorized correlation between witches and nominative initialisms.[return to text]

17Though their ultimate origins are unclear, shirts describing their wearers as bomb technicians or similar and recommending readers follow quickly in the event that said wearers are seen running are common enough that the joke is easily referenced; for example, see Neufeld & Robinson (2002).[return to text]

18In reference to the uniquely stilt-style-based 601 Lexington Avenue (formerly the Citicorp Center), which was discovered, in June 1978 at the approach of hurricane season, to be structurally unsound due to a design oversight and changes during its construction, necessitating quick, semi-clandestine repairs (Morgenstern, 1995; Werner & 99% Invisible, 2014).[return to text]

19That is, a minature human being created through alchemy (Newman, 1999).[return to text]

20In actuality, the use of molds and colored liquid to create miniature beings has precedent; see Frye (n.d.).[return to text]

21Though Japanese texts ascribe varying characteristics to shikigami, the most common idea presented by scholars sees them as supernatural beings who carry out tasks under the command of onmyōji, practitioners of Onmyōdō (Pang, 2013).[return to text]

22Newman & Principe (1998) point out that associations of alchemy with occultism and psychology are relatively recent, and that until the last two decades of the seventeenth century the terms “alchemy” and “chemistry” were used largely interchangeably, with both including, for example, the induction of dissolution or fusion and the production of medicine; only by the third decade of the eighteenth century did the two terms reach a differentiation close to the modern one, with “alchemy” used almost exclusively in topics related to metallic transmutation and “chemistry” used to define the the discipline of analysis and synthesis.[return to text]

23Although the most infamous creation of equally infamous Italian-Swiss amateur chemist Victor Frankenstein did explicitly compare himself to the Torahic and Christian Adam, in parallel with Adam's creation by his god, Frankenstein never appears to have actually bestowed a name upon him, nor did the creation seem to have given himself a name, according to the doctor’s recollections (Gen. 2:7-19 Knox Bible; Walton, as cited by Shelley, 1818/2008). References to what may be the same being, but named or calling himself “Adam,” appear in later records, however; for example, see Rosenberg et al. (2014).[return to text]

24“In mod. use, the quantitative relationship between the substances in a reaction or compound” (“stoicheiometry, n.,” 1989).[return to text]

25Compare: "You're going to need a bigger boat" (Zanuck, Brown, & Spielberg, 1975, 1:21:26).[return to text]

26That is, the Ten Commandments, the set of commandments Torahically and Christianly described as having been given to the Israelites by their god (“Decalogue, n.,” 1989; Exod. 19:1-20:17, 24:12-18, 34:28 New International Version).[return to text]

27The use of freezing temperatures in combating amorphous beings has shown some success (Harris & Hagman, 1972; Harris, Kastner, & Russell, 1988; Harris & Yeaworth, 1958). However, the efficacy of this strategy is by no means guaranteed; for an extreme example, see "SCP-968" (n.d.), wherein freezing temperatures ameliorated mobility. In addition, see next note.[return to text]

28For an example of the use of high temperatures in combating amorphous beings, see Wu's 2013 compendium of 2011-2012 Japanese-regional personae.[return to text]

29That is, stretched or pulled by the limbs, as in comparison to the flexibly limbed "Stretch" Armstrong (Heiler, n.d.).[return to text]

30An anti-malarial incantation prescribed by Roman physician Quintus Serenus Sammonicus in the the second or third century A.D. (Wootton, 1910).[return to text]

31Placed by McDougall (1902) to at least the beginning of the twentieth century, as part of a “wishing-spell,” in full, “ALAKAZAM BAZAZZA KI! HICKORY DICKORY DOCK. OMEGA OM OPEEKA PI? O DONNERWETTER HOCH” (p.20). However, the word and its variants also saw use as a facetious denoting of foreignness or sophistication, e.g. “sooflay de allakazam” (“A Wild Revel,” 1896, p. 17).[return to text]

32Ady (1656) notes the use of this phrase in the context of an incantation during the reign of King James VI and I; in full, “hocus pocus, tontus talontus, vade celeriter jubeo” (p. 29).[return to text]

33In incantational contexts, a phrase with transformative properties (Jones, 1963).[return to text]


	3. Denuntiatrix Capillis Callainis

The thing about Rinnosuke's pad is—   
  
And that's a real thought opener, right? "The thing about Rinnosuke's pad is." Even in your own noggin, it sounds like you're makin' to gripe. Truth is, though, it's a pretty nice place the dude's got set up here. Yeah, it's kinda airy, but that prolly comes in handy when summertime rolls 'round. And no beds, but you're pretty sure you're supposta sleep on the floor in the first place, 'cause Japan. And okay, maybe there's not a lot in the way of livin' space—   
  
Well, actually, it's that last one that's causin' trouble at the mo, and it isn't even 'cause of the slime (you and Rinnosuke cleaned the last of that stuff days ago, so you're done worryin' 'bout puttin' your hand on the wall and gettin' it back all red). Thing is—small spaces means  _build-up_. Means  _accumulation_. Of what?   
  
Of anything.   
  
Dust. Junk. Moods.   
  
 _Stink._    
  
And that's why you're standin' here, you givin' _Rinnosuke_ the glare stare for once, and if the dude doesn't stop fidgetin' and mutterin' anytime soon you're gonna start considerin'  _windpipe sproinginess_.   
  
"Alright, check it out, Mac—we're both adults here, dig? At least, I  _figured_  we were till you went five kindsa nuts at a  _reasonable suggestion_."   
  
No answer.   
  
"Look, I'm not sayin' it's not  _awkward_. 'Cause—it is. It's totally awkward. Like enjoy-the-movie-you-too awkward, even. But there's awkward, and then there's bitin' the bullet, and this is a bitin'-the-bullet sitch we've got here. Dig?"  
  
No answer.   
  
"It's not like there haven't been  _choices_ , either. I mean, ya coulda stepped out anytime and gotten something. Anything, even. Okay, not anything, 'cause I've got standards, but I woulda been appreciatin' the circumstances, y'know? But you were all—'No good, I'm a shut-in.' And I'm fine with that. No, seriously, I'm  _fine_  with that. What I'm  _not_  fine with is stickin' with the same duds—literally  _stickin'_ , here—and feelin' 'em gettin' grodier and grodier every day  _against my skin_. Ya got that? Say 'yes' if ya got that."   
  
And he's gotta be a fan of electric light orchestras 'cause  _he's not sayin' anything_.   
  
Time for the big guns.   
  
"Don't get me wrong, Mac," ya say, "you're lettin' me hang at your pad till this mess gets hammered out, and I'm real thankful for that. But if ya don't lend me your robe  _right now_ , I'm gonna be doin' my laundry  _nude_ , so if I was you I'd be givin' the option some serious consideration—"   
  
Rinnosuke makes a sound like ya really  _did_  go for his neck and tromps outta the place quick. He gives ya his robe in between, though, so you're chalkin' that in under "win." Plus, he's already left, so ya don't hafta worry about makin' the change—the duds come off, the robe goes on, and the washtub gets full.   
  
Well, fuller, now.   
  
'Cause water  _and_  clothes.   
  
'Course, now the problem's that you've got no idea what step  _two_  is in this whole biz. Ya put the duds in the water, sure, and later you're supposta take 'em out again, but between here and there you're kinda drawin' a blank. Fact is, you've never  _had_  to handwash stuff before. You've had machines. You've  _always_  had machines. For you, cleanin' your duds has always been a matter of haulin' 'em in, addin' detergent, spinnin' a dial, and waitin' for the buzz 'cause the buzz means it's dryer time and ya don't want your stuff sittin' 'round wet. 

That reminds you—you're dryerless, too. Bummer. 

Okay, no problem. Well, some problem, but not as much problem as it could be. Yeah, it's here-be-lions again, but this time the lions're a lot more metaphorical, so you're a lot less likely to get chomped, and anything with less chompin' is cool by you. Dudes were undirtyin' duds ages before wash cycles were a thing, right? Ya oughta be able to work this out.   
  
Though you've gotta admit—ya 'spect there's more to this laundry thing than just givin' the duds a bath. Ya lift your shirt outta the tub, givin' it a good eyeful. Yeah, it's wet—natch—and there's suds on it, but ya kinda don't think that's all you've gotta do to pass for clean, even 'round here.   
  
Maybe you've gotta do the spinnin' and rockin' yourself? Ya hope not.   
  
Or maybe you've just gotta let the duds sit for a while. That was a thing, right? You're sure that was a thing that happened—like, ninety-five percent sure. You'd put the duds in the wash and for a while that rockin' would stop and the stuff would just  _sit_. Sit and soak.   
  
You can do soak.   
  
Soak's easy.   
  
So ya put the shirt back in the place and do the thing. Or the not-thing. 'Cause what you're doin' is lettin' soak happen, and maybe you've hecked it up already, but ya don't think you've actually gotta  _do_  stuff for that to work.

'Cause soak.   
  
Course, there's a problem with soak, and the problem is this—you dunno how long soak's supposta go on. The machines know, back home, but  _you_  don't. Which means you're gonna be sittin' here, starin' at this tub, hopin' you can figure out soon how you're supposta eyeball the diff between soak and unsoak, and, uh...you're not lookin' forwards to that. Ya shoulda asked Rinnosuke for a deck of cards, back then.  _Anything_  to distract ya.   
  
And then a little girl falls in through the window.   
  
Yeah. That just happened. That  _totally_  just happened. "Yo," ya say, 'cept cautiously, 'cause any dude who thinks a window's a cromulent entry point prolly has something real hinky goin' on in their head, "you alright?"   
  
The little girl jumps to her feet. She's decked in blue, got wings—'cause of  _course_  she's got wings—and looks straight up PO'd. " _Course_  I'm alright!" she snaps, brushin' off her dress. "Ya think a measly fall like that's gonna hurt me?"   
  
"It  _could_. Sometimes dudes fall on their ankles funny, and the next thing ya know? Amputation." Ya take another look-see at those wings. Well, you're  _callin'_   'em wings, but that's just 'cause they're attached to the kid's back. If you're gonna be honest, they don't look like wings at all. They look like...   
  
They look like spiky crystally back things, that's what they look like.   
  
"What'd  _you_  land on, again?" ya say.   
  
The girl scowls. " _Not_  my ankles," she says. "And even if I'd landed on my ankles it wouldn't've hurt  _me_. I'm too  _strong_  to get hurt by just falling!" She underlines that last part with a hand-on-hips pose that kinda totally fails to defeat the impression that even bad vibes would send her topplin' like a stone Lenin.   
  
Then again, ya thought the same of Blondie, didntcha? And this one's got  _wings_. Or not-wings. Spiky crystally back things. "So what're you, anyways?" ya ask. "Another kinda youkai?"   
  
Whoa. Double dose of POage. "I'm not a youkai! I'm a  _fairy_."   
  
"What's the diff?"   
  
"Fairies are  _stronger_.  _I'm_  stronger."   
  
And you've got no clue 'bout the trueness of that. "Okay, so what's up with the window routine?" ya ask. "Ya followin' someone's hairstyle? 'Cause I hate to be the bad news bearer, but I'm kinda the anti-Rapunzel here. Though that means you're not gettin' your eyes gouged, so, y'know, hooray for that, right?"   
  
"What's a Rapunzel?"   
  
"I'm  _not_  Rapunzel."   
  
"Well, I'm not  _lookin'_  for Rapunzel. I'm lookin' for..." The kid up screws her face. "I forget her name, but she's a  _bully_. She sent my friend packin', just 'cause she could."   
  
"Huh. Sounds like a real douche, this dude." Or a dogbolt.   
  
"Yeah!" says the kid. "Whatever that means. But humans are  _always_  like that—thinkin' they can do anything just 'cause they're bigger." She lifts her chin like some kinda fairy Nemesis. "Well, it doesn't matter how big they are, 'cause I'm stronger!" 

And that's a 'tude you can get down with. "Dude!" ya say. "Respect knuckles."   
  
Blue Fairy doesn't respect knuckles. Blue Fairy checks out your fist like it's still slimed from the cleanin'—nose-wrinkles and everything. "What?"   
  
"Respect knuckles," ya say. "See—put your fist like this."   
  
Blue Fairy puts her fist like that. You respect knuckles it.   
  
"Boom! Respect knuckles."   
  
Only, all that does is get Blue Fairy checkin' out her  _own_  fist now, like she's got thoughts— _serious_  thoughts—'bout passive contamination. "I don't get it," she says.   
  
"Y'know, respect knuckles!" ya say again—and then a creepin' horror starts doin' the creepy bit up your spine. "Wait, wait a tick—respect knuckles are a thing here, right? Are respect knuckles not a thing here?"   
  
Blue Fairy shakes her head no.   
  
"Aw,  _man_. Yeah,  _course_  this place doesn't have 'em. They don't have  _dryers_ —why would they have respect knuckles? Aw, man." Ya shake your head, too, but it's a disbeliefy shake, not a no shake. "You're missin' out, Blue Fairy."   
  
And whaddya get outta your heartfelt sympathy? You get a  _snort_. "Sounds dumb," Blue Fairy says. "How're knuckles supposta be respectful, anyways? Ya use 'em for  _punchin'_. And keepin' your fingers attached."   
  
"Okay,  _yo_. First of all, check yourself. Second of all—gimme your fist again."   
  
Blue Fairy gives you her fist again. You respect knuckles it.   
  
"Boom! Get it?" ya say, while she's lookin' atcha like she's wonderin' if she's still got her wallet. "I did that. And me doin' that, that means  _respect_. It means whatcha said before? I dig it. I'm  _down_  with it. Viva la revolución—see?   
  
"Not really," says Blue Fairy. "But I think you're sayin'—that you respect me?"   
  
"Yeah, now ya got it! Respect knuckles!"   
  
This time Blue Fairy actually does her part. She's kinda flighty 'bout the whole thing, but she knuckles your knuckles with her knuckles, and that's what counts.   
  
"Boom?" she tries out.   
  
"Boom," you agree.   
  
And Blue Fairy actually kinda sorta carefully smiles. Neat.   
  
"So," ya say, "what's the plan with this bully biz? Ambush? Frontal assault?"   
  
Whoa. Wrong thing to say, maybe, 'cause the kid debrightens again awful quick. She makes another not-so-happy noise. "If it was just attackin' left, I'd be done already. 'Cept I dunno who she is. That's why I'm  _here_ ," she says.  
  
And then she looks ya up and down. It's not alotta up-and-downage, 'cause you're sittin', but it's still up-and-downage.   
  
"Hey," she says, "ya said ya respect me, right?"   
  
"Uh, yeah, sure?"   
  
"So if I ask ya to help me out, you'll do that, right? 'Cause ya respect me."   
  
Ha ha, she's kiddin', right? There's a way big diff between respectin' what a dude's up to and bein' their  _apostle_. 'Sides, ya don't have the  _time_  to play Kimball to this kid's Brown, not when you've gotta sit here and make sure your duds're soakin' right. 'Cause that's something that requires supervision, soakin'. Can't be done on its own.   
  
Gotta keep on eye on it.   
  
For whatever long it takes.   
  
Without the benefit of heckin'  _solitaire_  to save ya.   
  
"Sure." ya say, crackin' your knees on the way up. "Why not? Lead on, Macduff."   
  
Blue Fairy frowns. "My name's not Macduff. It's  _Cirno_."   
  
"Yeah, well, it's not 'lead on,' either. So what's the first stop?"   
  
"Um...oh, right! I toldja I dunno who the bully is, right?"   
  
She did that. She did do that. She did do the thing she's sayin' she did. "Uh-huh," ya say.   
  
"Well, I dunno who the bully is—but I  _do_  know that the  _shopkeeper_  knows! That's why I'm here. I've gotta  _interrogate_  him, and then I'll be all set!" 

Ya nod. "Sounds like a plan—gonna hafta work 'round the home advantage, though." And ya dunno if home advantage's a thing here when there's  _one_  home, so ya blast on quick. "Hey, check this out, 'kay? There's this  _trick_..." 

* * *

Rinnosuke's reaction to seein' Cirno stridin' in isn't so  _reactiony_ , even though you'd 'spect it to be, seein' as the kid made it in without usin' the front door somehow. The dude just takes it in, peerin' over whatever tome he's sniffin', and ya see something settle over between his eyes and his hairline, but that's it. It's an oh-it's-you (lowercase) look, if you've gotta guess, which kinda makes ya wonder if she-came-in-through-the-laundry-room-window isn't just a matter of  _course_  here.   
  
So the amazin' appearin' Cirno—he's got nothing to say 'bout that, in short. Which is cool, 'cause it's  _Cirno's_  turn for talkin'.   
  
"Alright. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."   
  
Rinnosuke, maybe sensin' the serious seriousness of this situation, slowly downputs his book. He's lookin' at the kid like he was lookin' at  _you_  a while back, which is to say like she's got a second head now. Only she's  _not_  got a second head now, at least not a second head oua can see, so it's prolly not that and prolly more that Cirno's gone suddenly all growly.   
  
That's you. You told 'er to do the growliness. Actually, ya told 'er to do snarliness, but snarliness takes serious prep time, so growliness' the best she's got to go with under the circumstances. It's still pretty ace growliness, though. Now Rinnosuke oughta be alarmed and-slash-or apprehensive.   
  
"What?" says Rinnosuke.   
  
Close enough.   
  
"Hard way it is!" says Cirno, and yanks Rinnosuke's neckline 'cross the desk at her, takin' Rinnosuke with it. Guess she really  _is_  that strong. "Where is she?"   
  
"Where is  _who_?" Rinnosuke squawks.   
  
Cirno rolls her eyes so hard she's gotta be seein' the insides of her skull. "Don't play games with me," she says. "Where is she?"   
  
" _Where is who?_ "   
  
"Say 'where's who' again. I dare ya, say 'where's who' again, I'll  _show_  ya what happens.  _Where is she?_ "   
  
" _I don't know who you mean!_ "   
  
Cirno makes another yank at Rinnosuke's duds hard, sendin' the dude and his knick-knacks spawlin' 'cross his knick-knacks and the floor, respectively. It also causes a whole lotta more squawkin', which sounds like maybe your cue to come jettin' in there and pull 'er off.   
  
So ya do.   
  
"Whaddya  _doin'_? Ya can't manhandle a dude! It's not cromulent." Ya finally separate the two of 'em, which is kinda tough considerin' you're not tryin' very hard.   
  
"Lemme at 'im! He knows something! I can make 'im talk!"   
  
"He can't talk if he's  _missin' teeth_ , dude.  _I'll_  handle this." Ya turn to Rinnosuke, who's straightenin' his robe. It's another kind of the one he gave ya, right down to the hemstitchin', and sittin' and standin' 'cross each other, the two of you look like a coupla fods back from a bad trip 'bout to have a serious talk 'bout where this relationship is goin'. "Look, sorry 'bout my partner," ya say. "She's under alotta pressure lately—ya know how it goes, right?"   
  
Rinnosuke doesn't know how it goes. "Partner?" he says, not-focusin' on your face and instead-focusin' on Cirno huffin' mad behind ya. Ya knock on his desk to ground 'im before he starts driftin' off into the aurorae.   
  
"Eyes on  _me_ , Mac. We're actually not talkin' 'bout my partner right now; we're talkin' 'bout  _you_. And you're a busy dude, right?" That's rhetorical, to keep 'im on his toes. Even if he's sittin'. "Sure, you're a busy dude, I'm a busy dude, and I  _know_  ya don't like me puttin' the spotlight on ya any more than I like bein' the dude doin' it. So lemme tell ya what—you straighten up and fly right, and we'll be outta your mug like yesterday's coffee. All  _you_  hafta do here is lay it out for us—dig? Now, where is she?"   
  
This time Rinnosuke's dividin' the focus between you and Cirno, which is a step up. Or forwards.

Then he says, "What's a spotlight?" 

"Okay, one, the spotlight's metaphorical, and two, that's totally the wrong answer here." Ya plant your hands on the desk. "Try again, Mac."   
  
"I already  _said_  that I don't know who 'she' is. What are you  _doing_? No, a better question—since when did Cirno become your  _partner_?"   
  
"Alright, that's it! Move over." Cirno stomps up to bat, rollin' up her sleeves, which kinda looks more silly than it oughta considerin' the dress already has short sleeves to it. "Ya tried to play nice, and I  _letcha_  play nice, but now this guy's just  _abusin'_  it. It's my turn."   
  
"What? Hey, c'mon, dude. Ya can't just—hey, hey, maybe he  _doesn't_  know. That's possible, right? Loadsa things're possible."   
  
"Are ya kiddin' me? Of course he knows!"   
  
"I know, I know, I know he knows, and you know he knows, but maybe  _he_  doesn't know he knows."   
  
"That's stupid. How can a guy not know he knows something?"   
  
"Maybe the dude only  _thinks_  he doesn't know." Back to Rinnosuke. "Ya  _do_  think you dunno, right?"   
  
"I  _know_  that I don't know, so would one of you  _please_  tell me what it is that I don't know?" And Rinnosuke gets all up to his  _feet_  shoutin', even, before sittin' back down again lookin' kinda embarrassed at his own self. You're just laymannin' it here, but you've got the hunch Rinnosuke's not a real shouty-type person, at least not past snappin' in indignance and cryin' in alarm.   
  
Ya hold up your hands to do some placatin'. "Calm down, Mac. Ya wanna let it all out, you can do it later. Right now, these are the things we can  _all_  do without, dig? Now, let's all be cool and make with the two-way expositin'. Cirno?"   
  
Cirno does another huff for luck. "Fine," she says. "A while back, Rumia was stayin' here. I dunno why, there's nothing here but a whole lotta junk lyin' around."   
  
"This is not  _junk_!" Hey, there's the indignance. "These are all valuable artifacts that have fallen through the Barrier from the Outside World—"   
  
"Like I said,  _junk_. None of that stuff's important." Cirno waves it away. "What's important is that Rumia was stayin' here for some reason till she got  _bullied off_ , and that's who I'm tryin' to find now— _the bullier_. So now that ya know whatcha know,  _where is she_?"   
  
Whoa, so Rumia's the friend Cirno's been doin' the avengey thing over? That's some Kevin Bacon shift right there. Last ya saw that kid, you were yellin' at her to jet!   
  
Which makes this whole sitch with Cirno kinda hinky, now that you're thinkin' 'bout it. 'Cause—you'd think you'da caught it, if Rumia'd been here and then someone'd yelled at 'er to jet.   
  
That sound ya hear is a coupla dead Brit mathmen laughin' atcha behind your back. 

Okay, so, twist—turns out the big bad dude Cirno's huntin' down is  _you_. That woulda been nice to know  _before_  ya started diggin' yourself in deeper under. As it is, you're lovely little blue flowers up to your neck at the mo, and you're gonna have to haul out the smarts real quick if ya wanna get yourself out without Cirno gettin' wise.   
  
"It was me."   
  
"Huh?"   
  
Or you could just drop some real talk because seriously, you have  _seen_  a sitcom before, ever.   
  
"It was me," ya say again. " _I_  was the dude who told Rumia to mojamatize. But I had a  _totally_  good reason for it, I swear."   
  
Ya raise a hand in the swearin' position, but Cirno's not takin' alotta stock in it. Not that she's  _mad_. She doesn't  _look_  mad. She looks like the way you'd think she'd look if ya led 'er to the kitchen on her birthday blindfolded but instead of givin' 'er a cake ya went crazy on 'er with soap in a sock.   
  
Only without the blindfold.   
  
And then she narrows her eyes real tight and she still doesn't look mad, 'cept this time it's 'cause she forgot 'bout mad and skipped straight to to havin'  _fury_.   
  
"So—you were playin' with me from the start?" she says, as fist-clenchy and teeth-grindy as you'd expect. She thinks ya Judas'd her, after all. "And then ya even turned into my  _partner_ , just so you could cover up what you were doin'!"   
  
"I'm not doin' anything!" ya say. "Okay, I'm doin' loadsa things, like breathin' and digestin' and brainpower, but there's prolly a whole buncha stuff ya  _think_  I'm doin' that I'm  _not_ , is what I'm sayin'."   
  
"Like I'm gonna believe you!" Whoa, and that's a proper junior glare stare right there. " _You're_  the one messin' stuff up for fairies and youkai, and bullyin' them and  _botherin'_  them—what kinda good reasons're there for stuff like  _that_?"   
  
"A very good question," murmurs Rinnosuke, holdin' up his chin by his hand by his elbow by his desk.   
  
"All quiet in the peanut gallery, Mac!" ya snap. "And anyways, I'm tellin' ya—I had a  _good reason_."   
  
Cirno crosses her arms. "So?"   
  
"So what?"   
  
"So, you're sayin' ya had a 'good reason.' So what  _is_  it?"   
  
Hey, if she's willin' to listen, ya might just get outta this with your splanch intact. "You familiar with some Marisa dogbolt? Witch duds, bad attitude, admittedly funky hattery?"   
  
"Yeah?" says Cirno. She's followin' you so far, it looks like. Prolly.   
  
"It was  _her_. She was 'round, bein' all dogbolty in her dogboltiness. I'm the  _hero_  of this flick, dig?"   
  
Cirno doesn't dig. Cirno doesn't dig so much she's straight up  _anti-diggin'_  , which is maybe fillin' in holes but also maybe makin' like a continental collision, even.   
  
 _Kangchenjunka._    
  
"Okay, so, cliff notes," ya say.  _Expound._  "Marisa comes slidin' through the door like some kinda hipster doofus, totin' a magical nuke  _which_  she starts wavin' under our noses like smellin' salts got its own arms race, 'cause  _dogbolt_. I did the distractin', and told Rumia to twenty-three before said dogbolt could go Ark of the Covenant on both our mugs.  _Now_  can ya stop starin' at me like I shivved your dog?"   
  
"I don't  _have_  a dog," Cirno says. "And—I don't  _understand_  anything ya just said, either. You're just talking' crazy now and tryin' to confuse me!"   
  
" _You're_  the crazy dude—everything I'm sayin' is perfectly cromulent!"   
  
"What's a  _cromulent_?"   
  
"It means it's  _kosher_."   
  
" _What's a_ kosher _?_ "   
  
Ya make an all frustratey sound. Ya can't help it. "Help me out there, Rinnosuke.  _You_  get what I'm sayin', right?"   
  
Rinnosuke's still handlin' his chin. "Not particularly, no," he says.   
  
"What? Yo—but—we talk all the time! We have conversations! We  _converse_! How're we  _conversin'_  if ya don't get what I'm  _sayin'_?"   
  
"I usually piece the broader meaning together from whatever context you supply," Rinnosuke says. "Sometimes I simply nod. You've never noticed."   
  
"Okay, douche. Also,  _Benedict_." No help from that quarter. " _Cliff_  cliff notes—Marisa was here, Marisa was  _vile_ , I told Rumia to run away 'cause I didn't want 'er to get blasted. Got it?"   
  
Cirno stares. Not a glare stare, this time, but there's so much a whole lotta stare packed into that one stare that it kinda sorta is anyways. You're talkin' peak stare efficiency, here. Ideal Stariness. "So you're sayin' ya  _helped_ Rumia?" she says.   
  
"Yeah. Like I  _said_ , I told 'er to jet. Not my fault she went  _transpacific_."   
  
More starin'.   
  
"Okay," says Cirno, "fine."   
  
And that just sorta hangs there.   
  
"'Fine'?" ya say.   
  
" _Fine,_ " Cirno says. "Ya don't  _sound_  like you're lyin'. Maybe."   
  
" _'Maybe'?_ "   
  
" _Maybe._  'Cause Rumia didn't say anything 'bout Marisa, but she didn't say you attacked 'er, either. So  _maybe_  you're tellin' the truth, or  _maybe_  you're  _not_. Either way—"   
  
And the kid points ya up.   
  
"I'm  _watchin'_   ya now, got it? The next time ya mess up, and ya go back to bullyin' any more fairies or youkai or anyone else,  _I'll be there_. And I'm not gonna be so nice the second time!"   
  
"Then ya oughta find a real comfy place to sit, 'cause the only dudes I bully are the dudes who  _deserve_  it!"   
  
"Yeah, well,  _maybe I will_!" And with that bit of Parthia she's outta there, leavin' you and Rinnosuke in the dust.   
  
"Man," ya mumble. Ya lean against Rinnosuke's desk, crossin' your arms, like that sorta I'm-totally-at-ease-with-the-sitch pose is gonna put ya totally at ease with the sitch. " _That_  coulda gone better, right?"   
  
Rinnosuke doesn't "right." He does lookin',  _regardin'_ , even, but no "right."   
  
"But for serious," ya say, "maybe I'm overthinkin' it, but I feel like there was a point somewhere where that whole deal I had goin' there went wrong and couldn't go right again. Like—I got  _Rubicon'd_. Ya dig?"   
  
Rinnosuke doesn't dig, either. Rinnosuke's too busy regardin' to dig. Rinnosuke says, in horrory kinda voice, "You're  _not wearing any pants_."   
  
"Uh, yeah? Not a new development, Mac—the pantslessness."   
  
"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"   
  
"I don't  _have_  any pants."   
  
"You have pants. I've  _seen_  you wearing pants!"   
  
"I'm soakin' those pants. Those pants are  _soaked_. I'm not wearin' soaked pants!"   
  
"Well, put on  _something_!"   
  
"I don't  _have_  a something! If I had a something I'd be  _wearin'_  a something instead of  _wearin' no pants_ , ya  _head-huffin' pompatus_ —" 

* * *

And that's how ya end up wearin' Rinnosuke's pants.


	4. Saepius Constitum Horologium Falsum Est

Day whatever, plus whatever whatever's been since the last whatever, and you're  _still_  hanginaroundin' Rinnosuke's pad.  
  
Right, that stuff ya thought something like a week ago, that stuff 'bout gripin'? That stuff 'bout feelin' bad 'bout thinkin' certain kindsa stuff 'cause it sounded like gripin' and that wasn't the kinda image ya wanted to build up, even in your own noggin?

Forget it. You're gripin' now, straight up, and you're not feelin' bad about that one  _tick_. It's been days since Cirno dropped in literally. It's been even longer since Marisa dropped in, and Rumia, and the fact that Rumia's the one ya miss the most even though she's been real honest 'bout wantin' to make for your marrow speaks  _pipes_  on how sick you are of starin' at these walls.  
  
Not that Rumia's  _that_  bad, but still—kinda can't ignore that pseudocannibalism.  
  
"Hey, Mac," ya say, half talkin' through the table you've got your face in.  
  
"I'm busy," Rinnosuke says.  
  
"Don't preempt a dude," ya say. "Hey, Mac."  
  
"I'm  _busy_ ," Rinnosuke says.  
  
"Just take me to the shrine already, Mac," ya say, "or wherever I can peace outta this nation. Dontcha want me outta your hair? I'm eatin' all your rice."  
  
You are not eatin' all Rinnosuke's rice. You're prolly makin' a dent in the rice he's got, but "all" is hyperbolin' it up.  
  
Not that it makes a diff to Rinnosuke. " _I'm busy,_ " he says again, and he's startin' to look mega-annoyed so ya let 'im have his busyness. He  _is_  hands-deep in some kinda you-dunno-what-it-is, so it's not like he's  _lyin'_.  
  
What  _is_  that, anyways?  
  
"What  _is_  that, anyways?" ya say.  
  
Rinnosuke actually even looks up, now that you're askin' 'bout his work. Some kinda professional pride? "A clock," he says. "The design is a bit different than anything I've seen before, though."  
  
And he turns up the thing for you to have a look-see.  
  
He's totally not lyin' 'bout the unusualness, either. First glance ya couldn't even tell it  _was_  a clock—all ya saw was a buncha gears, and something like a frame—but no, those are totally hands and a face, like for time-tellin'. "Huh. Is it supposta be all opened up like that?" ya ask. 'Cause if it was runnin', and you were feelin' stupid, you could stick a finger through the front and screw something up good."  
  
"I thought the same thing, when I found it," Rinnosuke says. "But it seems to have been built this way on purpose—without anything to cover up the inner workings."  
  
"Ya mean ya just  _found_  it? What, was it lyin' 'round in the woods waitin' for you to pick it up?"  
  
"It's not uncommon for objects from the Outside World to end up in Gensokyo if they've been forgotten. That's actually where I get most of my merchandise."  
  
Yeah, thinkin' 'bout it, alotta this stuff here's got a modern bent. Like the mini TV or that dehumidifier Rinnosuke had to toss 'cause he couldn't degunk it. "So I stick something in the attic too long and  _you_  get it? Kinda not fair," ya mutter, peerin' up outta sittin' to have a better see at what Rinnosuke's got. "Is that wood all the way through?"  
  
Rinnosuke almost sorta kinda smiles. "The shafts are metal, and so is the pendulum in the back, but all the gears are wooden. Whoever built this must have worked meticulously."  
  
And then his almost sorta kinda smile drops. "Unfortunately, it's broken."  
  
"The clock is?"  
  
"Yes—there's a mechanism at the top—"  
  
And Rinnosuke says a whole lotta stuff about gears and bits that aren't gears, but what it adds up to is this: Stuff's  _broke_ , yo. And Rinnosuke's not the dude to fix it. Which is kind of a bummer. For him. Not so much for  _you_ , 'cause it's not your clock, even by the finders-keepers regulations Rinnosuke's got laid down, but you can totally sympathize with the subjective bummerness of the sitch, for serious.  
  
"Right, so take it to the clock repair dude," ya say, once Rinnosuke's done yakkin' his face off. "There  _are_  clock repair dudes 'round this place, right?"  
  
"Not ' _clock repair dudes_ ,' exactly, but I should be able to get a replacement part made at the village."  
  
"Hey, problem solved! And while we're there, maybe you can get someone to get me to the shrine, huh?" You're glad ya got your duds clean—showin' up back home in someone else's robe woulda charmed some  _weird_  questions outta the ether. "Whaddya waitin' for, Mac? Let's jet!"  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't jet. Rinnosuke stands in the same place lookin' at the clock and also real troubled, which is like the diametric opposite of jettin'.

You're sensin' some kinda ish, here. "Alright, what's the hold-up?"  
  
"Honestly, I don't feel comfortable taking this clock to the village. It's a long walk both ways, and though the woodworkers at the village are skilled..."  
  
"You're bein' picky 'bout who gets to operate now?" Ya wanna roll your eyes, 'specially when the dude keeps on standin' there doin' nothing instead of even denyin' it. "So is there actually anyone who measures up to your double pompatus standards, or are we just gonna shove this thing on the shelf next to the rest of the busted knickknacks?"  
  
"' _Double_  pompatus'?"  
  
"I already called you a pompatus  _once_."  
  
Rinnosuke's got the look of dude tryin' to pin down his own shadow. " _Anyway_ ," he says, "there  _is_  someone else who might be able to fix something this complex, but..."  
  
He trails off again, and you're startin' to lose your cool. "But what? Is the dude fulla potassium benzoate? Stop waltzin' 'round the ish and  _give it to me straight_ , Mac!"  
  
"She lives in the forest. And she's less likely to show you to the shrine than I am."  
  
Ya toss your hands in the air. " _Nuts!_ "

Rinnosuke nods, 'cept it's more of a yeah-I-'spected-that nod than a sympathizin'-with-the-nutsness nod—and then he just sorta stops there, like there's something he's considerin' all of a sudden. Something heavier than the clock. "I don't usually do this," he says, all way careful, "but can I trust you to look after the shop while I'm gone?"  
  
" _Oh_ , no. If ya think you're leavin' me here, Mac, you've got another think comin'. I stay in this pad any longer and I'm gonna go  _bonkers_." Ya pause, just for a mo. "Don't say it."  
  
"I didn't say anything."  
  
"But you were  _thinkin'_  it, werentcha? Don't lie to me; I'm thinkpol all up in your gray matter. Where's my shoes?"  
  
"Your shoes are by the door.  _Where they've always been._ "  
  
"Oh, hey, they are! Thanks, Mac. Now let's get a move on before I wear out my feet just  _standin'_ , dig?"

* * *

It's just your second time strollin' through the place, but somehow the forest seems a lot less tulgey than it did from time number one. Which makes sense—ya know how ya got here, more or less, and if things start gettin' hinky, there's a dude next to you with a map in his noggin and a handle on the way back.  _Circumstances_ , in other words: Since time number one, your chances of dyin' from dehydration have dropped to about nil.  
  
On the other hand, your chances of dyin' to some boogeymeister lurkin' in the shadows have stayed 'bout the same. Hey, that's actually a thought ya didn't wanna have at  _all_! Neat!  
  
 _Not._  
  
Ya lean at Rinnosuke a little. "Mac, just so ya know..."  
  
Rinnosuke makes a curious kinda hmming sound.  
  
"Anything with sharp teeth shows up, I'm shovin' ya in that general direction. Fair warnin'."  
  
Rinnosuke makes another sound, 'cept this one's less curious and more like he's tryin' to work up a bein'-indignant. "How honest," he says instead.  
  
"Yeah, I try." And 'cause you feel just a little kinda bad 'bout lettin' out so easy how inclined you are at trippin' the dude in case of sharp teeth, "Ya wanna lemme at that clock? Looks hefty."  
  
"It's fine, thank you."  
  
"Ya sure?"  
  
"It's  _fine_."  
  
And that's when ya realize you're one of the dudes that this dude doesn't want applyin' their mitts to his super-special timepiece. No big surprise—ya weren't aimin' to worm your way into his heart or anything like that—but it's kinda still a pisser. Well, if the dude wants to schlep some overwooden ex-ticker all the way to wherever you're goin', you're not gonna stop 'im.  
  
"So, who's the clock repair dude we're seein', anyways?" ya ask, changin' the subject. "Can't 'zactly see the crowd beatin' a path to their door if they live in a place like  _this_."  
  
"She isn't a 'clock repair dude' at all, so she doesn't actually need any customers," Rinnosuke says. "In fact, there's a good chance she might not be willing to help. And even if she is, the price might be too high again..."  
  
There's a story attached, and ya don't know if it's something worth listenin' to or if Rinnosuke's just scroogin' it up, but either way it doesn't matter, 'cause all of a sudden you're  _there_ , "there" bein' where this clock repair dude who isn't a clock repair dude operates, maybe, and you're actually kinda surprised even after all the monsters and magic, not 'cause there's any _more_ monsters or magic, but 'cause you're  _there_ , which is  _here_ , and the place where you're here at is  _western_.  
  
Which is weird.  
  
'Cause you're in Japan, right? Even if you're in some weird enclavey place that doesn't really care who got the last election (Japanese or otherwise), you're still in the middle of Japan, so if there's someone livin' all up on their own in the woods, you'd 'spect them to be livin' in a Japanese-style pad, right? 'Cept this dude—whoever this dude is—they're  _not_. What you're lookin' at right now is straight up  _occidental_. Like, it's not a schloss or anything, just a dinky little cottage thing in the woods, but the door's got  _hinges_ , and somehow? That's  _refreshin'_.  
  
Refreshin' to you, anyways. Rinnosuke just knocks on the thing. Guess he's seen all kindsa doors.

And then the door opens, and on the other side's a blond dude in a blue dress who just needs a  _tick_  lookin' at Rinnosuke for her mug to go ultra-flat. "Rinnosuke," she says, like she didn't wanna have had to say that.  
  
"Margatroid," says Rinnosuke, like ditto.  
  
Margatroid—or at least you're assumin' that's her name, 'cause that's what Rinnosuke called her—holds that glare stare she's got lined up another tick before breakin' this whatever-it-is-these-two've-got-goin'-on-here. "I wasn't expecting you at all," she says, and you dunno how she's doin' smug and uninterested at the same time but it's a real neat trick. "You must be facing a great difficulty if you've troubled yourself to vacate your little shop and travel all the way here."  
  
"You weren't exactly my first choice," Rinnosuke says.  
  
"Perhaps—but you're here, all the same." That fake-not-interested thing goes your way. "And you've brought..." The dude drifts off, like maybe she just figured out just now she doesn't actually know ya.  
  
So ya help 'er out. "I'm Chris," ya say. "From the Outside World. Rinnosuke's lendin' me space till I get re-exported."  
  
Margatroid just sorta takes that in for another another tick. "I see," she says, and you're thinkin' maybe ya whanged 'er off her stride a little, but she gets back to walkin' real quick, holdin' open more the door. "You might as well come in," she says, and seein' as other than that the only choice's makin' do with the woods, ya squeeze in yourself pronto.  
  
And hey, the insides're as western-lookin' as the outsides! For serious—it's like someone took the idea of little-homey-European-cottageness and epitomed it in the middle of Japan. You've got the fancy curtains, the rock fireplace, the bookshelf packed to the brim, the rug with those little dangly ropey things stickin' out from the sides—  
  
"Whoa," ya can't not say. "Hey, check it out!"  
  
Rinnosuke's right there. "What is it?"  
  
"The tablecloth, Mac—it's  _macrame_!"  
  
"I see." Rinnosuke says. "Margatroid, I need a favor."  
  
"Two books."  
  
"What? You don't even know why I need your help!"  
  
"I expect it concerns that timepiece you're carrying—or did you bring it purely for the exercise? Two books."  
  
"I've  _given_  you enough books already."  
  
"You've  _paid_  me in literature, for services rendered. I consider the price generous, besides—there must be a reason you've come to me, rather than visit the village. You know the path, after all—"  
  
And that's where ya tune out, 'cause between listenin' to those two dudes hagglin' and gettin' a close-up on the macrame, you're macrame  _all the way_. You're not even like a macrame  _fan_  or anything—ya didn't have macrame anything at your pad, and your folks didn't have the stuff at theirs.  
  
But it's a not-Japanish thing. Another back-homey thing, like the door hinges. And that means you're kinda stupid  _psyched_.  
  
Also apparently totally homesick. Like ultra-seriously super-mega-homesick, and all of it hits ya like it's a sucker punch and you're on the wrong end of it. Ya miss the macrame ya don't have, and the door hinges ya  _do_  have, and refrigerators and electric fans and chain coffee shops and keytars and junk mail zines and bags of potato chips ya can't open to the point ya start thinkin' you're gonna hafta take a coupla scissors to 'em but then ya actually _do_ open 'em at the last sec and it feels kinda like a victory but also ya feel kinda ashamed 'cause ya actually considered the scissors...  
  
And there's something lurkin' over your shoulder, just sorta there in your peripheral.  
  
Ya freeze.  
  
And then ya turn real casual, 'cause  _you_  weren't doin' anything wrong. "I'm just lookin' at the macrame. No rules 'bout macrame-lookin', right?" ya say, totally not feelin' defensive at all.  
  
The floatin' little dude floatin' in front of your face doesn't say anything. Also, there's a floatin' little dude floatin' in front of your face. Like, just the size of your face, in front of your face, floatin'. Doesn't say anything. Just sorta tilts her head. Like she's  _judgin'_  ya, unjustifiably.  
  
"I wasn't even macrame-touchin'," ya say.  
  
The floatin' little dude  _still_  doesn't say anything. The floatin' little dude isn't even a dude at all, prolly—the not-dude's face is too shiny and she's got it straight sorta fixed at you, all starey.

And not blinkin'.  
  
Yo, if this is what you're gettin' in floatin' little dudes from now on? Ya kinda want Rumia back. Yeah, there was the whole deal with wantin' to chomp your spleen, but she was still a lot less with the creepola.  
  
Last ya saw, anyways.  
  
Ya look 'round the not-dude, 'cause ya don't wanna look at it. Yeah, Rinnosuke and Margatroid're still there, hackin' and snipin' and bein' otherwise  _real belligerent_  at each other. Rinnosuke's put the clock down, at least, which is good, 'cause the last thing ya want is a shaggy dog story with the thing in N-plex pieces 'cross the floor. Doesn't look like the two of 'em're gonna start agreein' on anything anytime soon, though.

"Surely you have better curiosities to guard than the volumes you can't even  _read_ —"  
  
Doesn't  _sound_  like it, either. Yeah, you're gonna catch up to 'em later. Maybe. Meanwhile—back to that floatin' little not-dude, who you're still not gonna look at direct, 'cause  _seriously_. "So who're you?" ya say.  
  
The floatin' little not-dude  _still_  still doesn't say anything, but this time, at least, it does a little nod-tilt sideways, which means it's  _acknowledgin'_  your question, which is a step up from the dead-fish stare that was comin' your way half a mo back. But hey, maybe that's the best it can do, nod-tiltin'. Maybe it straight up can't talk. Ya can't just  _assume_  it's keepin' silence 'cause it's some sort of mini-mega-douche, can ya?  
  
No, hold on, can ya? Seriously, you've gotta think about this for a tick. You could prolly call Rinnosuke a douche, seein' as he's refusin' to virgil you outta here outta sheer  _laziness_ , but he  _is_  lettin' ya hang at his pad while ya wait, so you'll call that even stevens and stick 'im back at Limbo (and plus sloth and acedia aren't the same deal anyways, so you dunno he'd even _get_ a circle). Rumia wants to suck the keest outta your bones, and that's  _aspirin'_  to douchiness, if nothing else, but she's also been real nice 'bout it, which is kinda weird but good enough that it puts 'er down as neutral, somehow. Marisa's a dogbolt, ya think, but ya barely met 'er. Cirno maybe hates your guts, but that's 'cause she thinks  _you're_  the douche. So yeah—Rinnosuke says this place has monsters up the wazoo, but the dudes you've met so far have been actually kinda  _okay_.  
  
So this could be okay too. "Ya live here?" ya say to the not-dude. "Nice place."  
  
The not-dude nods again, 'cept actually nodways this time, and adds a little old-timey curtsy on top of it.  _Still_  still still doesn't say anything. Yeah, that's gonna get old fast. Like, tried-out-the-wrong-grail fast.  
  
"Those are  _valuable_  books. They contain information about the Outside World—"  
  
As opposed to these dudes, who're gettin' old  _Dorian Gray_  fast. "Hey," ya say to the not-dude, "mind if I check out the room over?"  
  
Another nod-tilt. This one's sorta infused with an air of inquisitiveness, or maybe you're just watchin' a floatin' little not-dude angle its head over and the only dude 'round here infusin' anything with any meaning is  _you_. 'Cause that's a thing, right? Rorschach. Holtzman.  _Projection._  
  
Meh.  
  
"I'm not gonna rearrange the furniture or anything," ya promise the floatin' little not-dude. "It's just—yo—"  
  
And ya stick your chin over at Squabbly and Squabblier, who don't even notice—  
  
"Would  _you_  wanna be stuck in the same room as this mess?"  
  
The floatin' little not-dude stops nod-tiltin' its head.  _Still_  still still still doesn't say anything, but if it  _was_  gonna say anything you'd imagine it sayin', "Oh." And then it makes for the next room.  
  
"That's what I  _thought_ ," ya mutter, and ya get in that direction as fast as ya can before ya wanna  _bolt_.

* * *

"Not alotta room," ya say, and that's you bein'  _nice_  'bout it. You thought it was hinky, this floatin' little not-dude guidin' ya into a closet, but then ya looked into the closet and it was actually  _the smallest kitchen you'd ever seen_. Meanwhile, the floatin' little not-dude looks kinda incensed, which is a neat trick for something that doesn't have an operational  _face_. It's swoopin' 'round the closet-kitchen, missin' the dishes and cups and little fancy spoons just  _barely_.  
  
"There's plenty of room!" it seems to be sayin', and maybe you'd agree with it if ya _also_  only came up to your own knee.  
  
Well, seein' as you're in a kitchen, even if it _is_ a kitchen outta  _Gulliver's Travels_ , ya might as well get something kitchenian out of it. "Hey, if it's not alotta trouble—ya got any coffee in here?"  
  
The not-dude makes a big show lookin' both ways arms akimbo before shakin' its head. "We haven't any, I'm afraid," it looks like it's sayin'. "Perhaps a cup of tea?"  
  
And you're actually set to sub one caffeine tap with another when ya get that creepin' feelin' again, the same kind ya got when Cirno didn't know respect knuckles from rock-paper-scissors. "Hey—wait a tick. Coffee's a thing here, right?" ya say. "Like, I'm talkin' a  _thing_  thing. Like, the sorta thing ya see on the shelf of the Gensokyo everydude. Right?"  
  
The not-dude's still stickin' its elbows out, but now it looks kinda irater. Like it's sayin' something like, "It seems I've failed to meet your bibitory standards. Might food serve as recompense? I could prepare a  _Yorkshire Christmas Pie_."  
  
"Hey, maybe if ya didn't want some Outside World dude askin' you for Outside World drinks, ya shouldnta led 'er to your  _Inside World kitchen_!"  
  
"I apologize," seems to say the not-dude. "I apparently didn't anticipate I'd have some artless rook  _galumphing forth_  to  _criticize the state of my shelves_."  
  
"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry, too! I dunno why I 'spected you to produce coffee when ya prolly can't produce  _hair_ , ya  _anthropomorphism fall-shorter_!"  
  
"And what tool have you used to cut  _yours_?" the not-dude seems to ask. "No, but let me guess—a pair of pruning shears?"  
  
"You—heck, I wouldn't trust ya for a thing of  _coke_! It'd come outta you all  _flat_ —"  
  
" _What are you doing?_ "  
  
You about-face real quick. Margatroid's standin' in the doorway with Rinnosuke peerin' in overhead, and ya don't even  _care_  that it's her pad, 'cause this hoverin' shade-maker behind ya's been heapin' out the sass and you're  _not done_  till ya  _pay it back with interest_. "Do ya  _mind_?" ya snarl. "We're talkin'  _gastronomy_."  
  
" _Gastronomy._ "  
  
"What, ya think I can't talk gastronomy?"  
  
"With my  _doll_."  
  
"Yeah, well." Ya look back at the not-dude.  
  
The not-dude—doll—floats there. All very not-talky.

Silent.

Like it was from the first place.  
  
"Yeah," ya say, "I've got nothing."  
  
"Is that so?" Margatroid's smile is all ersatz, 'cept for the very real damage it's prolly doin' to her molars. "I think it would be best if the two of you left."  
  
Rinnosuke starts. "But we haven't made an agreement yet—"  
  
" _One book._  I will repair your clock for  _one book_  if you  _leave now and take her with you_."  
  
Rinnosuke jets so quick he's got one foot outta the place when ya hear the "Deal." Ya make to follow, but you're held up half through the doorway. Literally.  
  
"That's my shoulder," ya tell Margatroid. "I need that. It connects the back bone to the neck bone—"  
  
" _Put down the plate._ "  
  
"Plate?"  
  
Ya look at your hands.  
  
Whaddya know—you've  _got_  a plate! Got it by a four-fingered grip 'cross the back that suggests ya coulda made the gold-medal windup for the discus throw, in fact. "Whoops. Yo, how'd that get there?"  
  
"I assure you I haven't a notion."  
  
"Yeah, but, y'know, ignorin' the you-bein'-facetious—" Ya drop the plate off on the nearest counter and maybe also accidentally some of your dignity 'cause suddenly Margatroid's marchin' ya through the place by the clavicle. "Ow—hey—yo, but seriously, I don't even remember _thinkin'_ 'bout chuckin' that, which means maybe I wasn't gonna, so if ya just leggo for a tick I can make it out on my  _whoa_ —"  
  
The front door shuts behind ya with definite shuttance.  
  
"Guess not, huh?" ya mutter. "Hoity-toity  _toit_."  
  
Rinnosuke just huffs a sigh, like he 'spected this outcome all along or something. Then he starts walkin', and ya bring up the rear, 'cause the forest's still a forest and there's just one of you that knows the directions to the next available roof. Ergo, ya make like a duckling. At least nobody has to lug the clock  _back_. "So what's the deal, Mac?" ya ask.  
  
"Deal?" says Rinnosuke.  
  
"Y'know, with the clock. Did she say what was wrong, or did she just have ya hand it over and tell ya how many business days to come back in?"  
  
"Ah," says Rinnosuke. "Well—she did say, actually. Apparently it was the escapement."  
  
"So like, the ticker's ticker. Yeah, that'd do a clock in. And you've gotta pay 'er in books?"  
  
"Just one, this time. She stops by the shop every now and then, just to see if I have any new books on mechanics, and the such. She must have seen a couple that she wanted for herself—I recently found a few books on automata, so it was probably those."  
  
Your first thought is that it all jibes. Mechanics and automata—sure, that fits someone who does clocks, right? But then ya get thought number _two_. "Hey, so, that little floatin' not-dude—was that one of those?" ya ask, sorta excited-like. Not we're-goin'-to-the-roller-coaster-park excited, but more like wait-a-tick-wait-a-tick-check-out-this-thought excited. "I knew it wasn't a dude, but I didn't think it wasn't a  _dude_  dude."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Y'know, Mac, the little floatin' not-dude! Little—floatin'—man, I was talkin' to it in that closet-kitchen Margatroid's got set up. Was that an automaton? I thought it had legit sapience, seriously." And if it didn't, there's some dudes in the artificial intelligence community dyin' to meet this clock repair dude and they don't even  _know_  it.  
  
But Rinnosuke shuts that down real quick. "Not really," he says. "That was just a doll. Margatroid can direct them, even from relatively far away—that's how she got her title."  
  
"Title?"  
  
"Yes. They call her the Seven-Colored Puppeteer."  
  
Ya think about that. Just for a bit.  
  
"So she could hear everything I was sayin'? To the little not-dude?"  
  
"Possibly."  
  
" _Nuts._ " Ya think 'bout that a little bit more. "Why seven colors?"  
  
"In the title?"  
  
"Yeah, sure in the title. Why seven colors?"  
  
"Because her grimoire shines in the seven imperfect colors—the same as a rainbow."  
  
"Okay, first of all, I'm gonna have some real bad news to tell ya later." Roy G. Biv? Newton was a  _dope_. "Second—it's kinda weird she's all 'bout dolls and puppets and her nickname's 'bout  _colors_. Like, how good is she with puppets? Could she control a whole bunchload at once? Like, whole fleets of 'em?"  
  
Rinnosuke looks straight up disturbed by whatever pic ya just set off up there. "I can't say I've ever seen her control  _that_  many dolls at once," he says, real careful, like he might make it happen just  _thinkin'_  'bout it, "but I can't say that's impossible, either."  
  
"Right, so, anyways, they oughta call 'er something to do with puppets. Like—the  _Thousand-Armed_  Puppeteer."  
  
Rinnosuke makes some weird sorta hummin' noise, like he's standin' on the precipice of not-sayin'-the-thing and gazin' down upon the dark waters of sayin'-the-thing-after-all, and there's some imp of the perverse proddin' 'im with its little pitchfork. "It's been done." he says.  
  
"Seriously? Well, bummer for Margatroid, I guess."  
  
Rinnosuke nods. And then he says, "I have to thank you."  
  
"Huh?" ya say. "Yeah, sure, no problemo. Why?"  
  
And here's where Rinnosuke actually kinda surprises ya, 'cause the smile he pulls out isn't  _evil_ , but it's  _approachin'_  it. Like one of those optical illusions where ya hafta look at the painting just right if ya wanna see the skull.  
  
"If Margatroid hadn't been so eager for us to leave," he says, "I think she would have ended up taking both books instead of just one."  
  
Ya do your own huff. "Ya don't hafta thank  _me_. It's Margatroid who was puppeteerin' that not-dude into bein' a  _snot_. My yellin' was the  _righteous_  kind. How was I supposta know—yo, is coffee really that rare 'round here?"  
  
"Not rare, exactly. But it _is_ considered a luxury item."  
  
"Yeah, see, that's the sorta thing I was  _afraid_  of. I mean, I can drink tea fine, right? But I'm gonna miss catchin' a quick java at the coffee shop till I get back. For serious, Mac, back home there's a place every  _block_ for that stuff."  
  
Rinnosuke's eyebrows go up, like he's been startled, but not in a bad way. Like maybe someone threw 'im a surprise birthday party when he forgot it was his own birthday. "Really?" he says. "I'd like to see that."  
  
"Ha! Once I'm done hangin' at your pad,  _you_  can hang at _mine_."  
  
Course, you're kiddin'. The two of you have got that Whassitcalled Barrier between ya. Odds are, once you're outta here, you and this dude're never gonna meet again.  
  
Aw well.  
  
And just like that, you're outta things to say, the both of you. Straight up Lincoln o'clock. It's not a  _bad_  silence, though—just a silencey silence. And you can silence just fine. You're not gonna  _bust_  if ya don't have an outlet or anything. What are you, a basement boiler?  
  
"Hey, Mac, you're not just a low-key Christian, are ya?"  
  
"No. What?"  
  
"Just checkin'."  
  
 _Definitely_ Limbo.


	5. In Capsula Iocai Sum

“Ya think she took ya for a ride?”  
  
Rinnosuke looks up at yiy—or up and over, seein' as he's sittin' at his desk and dealin' with the the latest pile of tchotchkes while you're sittin' on the floor tryin' to build a chess game off a shogi board. Ya dunno what a shogi board is, even. The only reason ya know it's a shogi board is 'cause ya found the board, and then ya took it over to Rinnosuke and asked 'im what it was, and he said, “It's a shogi board.”  
  
“What?” says Rinnosuke.  
  
“I said—ya think she took ya for a ride?” You've got the pieces taken care of already, at least. That's what gotcha this idea—findin' all those dice that were moldin' away on the shelf. The white dice'll be the white pieces, and the not-white dice won't. “I mean—I'm not sayin' you got put on toast, Mac. I'm not into woodworkin', so maybe it's the norm—a week or something. That's why I'm askin' you. Ya think she took ya for a ride?”  
  
“You're asking if Margatroid stole the clock?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“No. She wants that book too much.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Right off the bat, once he got it. Ya start layin' out one-pip dice for pawns, and tellin' yourself to remember to forget that extra rank and file you've got on the board.

“Guess she can't exactly get the piece by mail order,” ya say. “Something that precise, you've  _gotta_  take it easy.”  
  
“That, and she might experience time differently—because she's a youkai.”  
  
Hold it. “Say what?”  
  
“Well, according to youkai and certain long-lived humans, time actually seems to pass by faster the older one grows—”  
  
“No no no no no—lay off the special relativity for a tick. What I'm sayin' is—Margatroid's a youkai?”  
  
Rinnosuke goes mum, just blinkin' atcha for a bit. And then he actually looks  _abashed_ , even if it's still in that muted, Rinnosukey sorta way. “I forgot you didn't know,” he mutters. “Yes, Margatroid's a youkai—it's one of the reasons she can live in the Forest of Magic so comfortably.”  
  
“Huh. So, should I be worried when she stops in? She's not gonna try to eat my face off, is she?”  
  
“Not  _all_  youkai are interested in eating humans,” says Rinnosuke. Ya get the impression he's not all for bein' the primer for human-youkai relations in this place. “As far as I know, Margatroid spends most of her time studying magic by herself. Actually, she's a magician, so she doesn't even need to eat.”  
  
“Not eatin'? Now  _that's_  messed up.” You're flounderin' on where to put the six-pip queens. Queens're supposta go on the squares they're the same color as—you remember that much—but that only works on boards that're colored in in the first place, like this board _isn't_. “Ya can't trust a dude that doesn't eat, Mac," ya say, while ya fig. "They're all messed up one way or the other; believe me.”  
  
“So you'd prefer them eating you instead?”  
  
“I'm not  _sayin'_  I wanna get stuffed in a pie—I'm just sayin' ya can't trust a dude just 'cause they're  _not_  gonna eat ya, and ya  _definitely_  can't trust 'em if they don't eat at all. You forget to eat, you forget to  _live_ , metaphorically.”

The knight gets two pips 'cause it's an obnoxious sneaky bitin'  _springer_. Ya put it next to the four-pip rook.

“Maybe that's why you're so grouchy all the time,” ya say.  
  
Rinnosuke looks kinda disturbed at you at your super-accurate analysis you've got there. “Grouchy?” he says, “I'm not  _grouchy_.”  
  
“You're  _totally_  grouchy. You're grouchin' at me right now. It's 'cause ya need more variation in your cuisine. I prescribe zucchini and tomatoes and mozzarella, and we'll work your way up to a full-blown lasagna. Whaddya say, Mac? Lasagna  _saves lives_.”  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't say anything at first—just sorta wrinkles up his face a bit like he really, really wants to give ya the Look, only he's havin' trouble justifyin' the expenditures to the metaphorical big cheese in charge of his headspace and everything followin' it. Then he says, “I'm guessing those are foods?”  
  
“ _Course_  those're foods! How long've you been shuttin' yourself up in here that ya never crossed paths with lasagna—”  
  
And then something real belatedly helpful up in your own braincase decides that's the time to pipe up with a quiet, all polite-kinda-seemin', “yo”.  
  
“Oh,” ya say. “Right. Sorta forgot about that whole livin'-in-a-magic-bubble-'cause-the-relatively-secular-attitudes-of-the-Outside-World-would-stick-a-broom-handle-through-the-spokes-of-the-faith-based-operation-you've-got-goin'-on-here deal you've got goin' on here. My bad.” And it's double the bummer, 'cause yeah, it isn't 'zactly breakin' news, reality yankin' ya down like a lion 'bout to make something real productive outta the lingeriest hartebeest (you're stuck in an  _anachronism_  with a shopkeep who's so lazy he's the  _reason_ you're stuck in an anachronism; that's a  _thing_ ), but it's not like you were shootin' for the Golden Fleece here either, and ya never wanted to be king anyways.  _Foods aren't supposta be hard to find_ , is the point, and even if some foods're pricier than others, at least you're supposta know that gettin' 'em is a thing of  _possibility_. Like, as long as you've got the cash to match.  
  
Or unless it's something  _really_  out there. Like something that'd make the dudes at the douane put your name on a list. You're not gonna get despondent 'cause the grocery store doesn't stock  _casu marzu_  or whatever—ya  _get_  that. Plus, you're pretty sure your mom's mom's sister's husband's brother knows a dude.  
  
Super In-Depth Christie Christoferson Review—ya can't get home, and that sucks. But ya also can't get lasagna, and that sucks even more somehow. Even though that's the smaller problem. Maybe  _'cause_  that's the smaller problem?  
  
Ya knock a one-pip pawn a coupla spots up from where it's hangin' with its five-pip king. Your move, Black. Whaddya gonna do now?  
  
“So," Rinnosuke says, "what exactly  _is_  lasagna?”  
  
Black's gonna call a timeout, that's what Black's gonna do now—while ya take a look at Rinnosuke, who's actually put down the knick-knack of the day, which means whatever's he's talkin' 'bout now might maybe be  _important_. “It won't do ya any good knowin', Mac,” ya tell 'im. “Even disregardin' the part with the water buffalo, I'm pretty sure you're lackin' the ingredients.”  
  
“Probably,” Rinnosuke agrees, “but—lasagna, is that something people from the Outside World eat often?”  
  
“Well...I dunno 'bout ' _often_ ', but most of the dudes where I'm from  _know_  'bout it. Ya stop the dude on the street and ask 'em if they've heard of lasagna before, you're gonna get the answer 'yes,' is what I'm sayin'. But it's not exactly like I've got a coupla fingers up against the pulse of the global culinary zeitgeist, either—I know this is gonna sound nuts, but I've got limits too, Mac, ya dig?”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.” Rinnosuke does some scroungin' 'round while he's talkin', somehow findin' some paper in the junk he's got heaped up to his arms on his desk. Ya guess there's a system, even if it looks like just a buncha stuff stacked on top of a buncha other stuff when  _you're_  lookin' at it. Then, he sticks his hand through another heap and pulls out a—  
  
“Yo, is that a ballpoint?”  
  
The sides of Rinnosuke's face sorta  _up_  for a sec before they catch themselves. “It's an interesting invention,” he says. “With the transparency of the body, you can see how much ink you have left.”  
  
You're not the one who needs to take Outside World 101 here, but it's not like ya feel like harshin' his mellow. “Ya gonna write down everything I say now, Mac? If you're gonna be my Boswell, make sure ya put down how how awesome I am proper. 'Her chin had the prominence and squareness markin' 'er for a real determined dude.'”  
  
“Your  _chin_?”  
  
“Ya don't like my chin?”  
  
“I'm just writing down information about the Outside World, when I can find it.” Rinnosuke, totally junkin' your reasonable suggestions. The dude's  _qualmless_. “The books I have are helpful, but they usually assume I know more than I actually do, which can make interpreting them difficult. I thought it'd be better to get my information from a primary source instead.”

“And you're askin'  _me_? Yo, I'm flattered—for serious—but chef de cuisine I  _ain't_. I just chow down on the stuff.”  
  
“Still, you're the best source I have,” Rinnosuke says. His ballpoint hovers. “So—lasagna?”  
  
“Fine, lasagna.” And that's the sound of acquiescin', 'cause yeah, you're not this dude's personal 'pedia, maybe, but he  _is_  lettin' ya hang here, and if all you've gotta do to pay your stay is let 'im in on a coupla whaddya-knows from the Outside—then you're  _down_  with that, ya guess. “Man, I dunno where to start.”  
  
“Take your time.”  
  
“It's not  _not_  takin' my time that's the ish here.” Ya rub kinda in the territory of your hairline with the hard part of your palm, like that's gonna help—get the oxygen to your brain faster, or something. “Right,” ya say, “so, check it out—there's lasagna, right? And that's the stuff ya eat. But the stuff that's the main ingredient of lasagna, the pasta, that's  _also_  lasagna, I think. Wait, do ya even know what pasta is?”  
  
“Explain it to me like I don't,” says Rinnosuke.  
  
“Uh, gimme a sec here.” Man, this is all _kindsa_ outta your pay grade. Didntcha  _just_  say ya  _just_  chow down on the stuff? “Okay, so the main deal with pasta is—ya take wheat, and then ya all mash it into flour, right? And then ya take the flour, and ya put water in it, maybe, and that turns it to dough. Then ya put the dough in some kinda shape, and that's pasta, basically, 'cept now you've gotta cook it. Am I leavin' you behind here?”  
  
Rinnosuke's not even lookin' atcha anymore 'cause he's that busy notetakin'. “I know the process,” he says, and you're real glad for that, 'cause ya didn't wanna hafta 'splain it further, not when ya see the dude's usin'  _bullet points_. You're not in that kinda field, but you're pretty sure that when a dude bothers with bullet points it's an indicator of serious business, notetakingwise.  
  
And ya don't like that at all. Like,  _at-all_  at all. The whole bein'-thereness of the bullet points is makin' you aware of  _other_  things that're also there, like the possibility of you gettin' something wrong, and then that wrongness gettin' inscribed and filed away by Rinnosuke for  _forever_.  
  
So, yeah. No pressure, right?  
  
“So here's the thing,” ya say. “Lasagna—I mean, the  _pasta_  lasagna? It's kinda different than what dudes think of when dudes think of pasta. 'Cause, when dudes think of pasta—I mean, where  _I'm_  from, when dudes think of pasta—the image is like, long noodly stuff, like ramen, sorta. Or else bite-sized stuff in the shape of little tubes or bow ties and stuff like that. And lasagna's like— _sheets_. Actually, that's kinda the thesis statement here, okay? 'Lasagna's sheets.'”  
  
“Sheets,” Rinnosuke mutters, and—  
  
Yo, is he smilin'?  
  
Ya do a double-take, but the sight doesn't change—the dude's  _smilin'_. And not just an  _implication_  of a smile, like you've been gettin' on and off since ya started sleepin' over, but the real deal, with open lips and everything. His teeth are pretty white, for a dude who isn't gettin' his fluoride, and it's crazy stupid but ya catch yourself thinking of the  _moon_. Like—as if maybe ya stepped out to catch it bein'  _new_ , only ya marked your calendar wrong, and there's this crescent thing instead, waxin' its way up to a dichotomy. That whole unexpectedness vibe—that's what you've got, all of a sudden.  
  
'Cause lookin' at Rinnosuke now, him curled all tense over his desk, scribblin' at hand-crampin' speeds, his eyes flickin' between you and his notes, the corners of his mouth reachin' tentatively up his cheeks—  
  
The thing is, all of a sudden, he looks kinda—  
  
He looks kinda—  
  
He looks  _kinda_ —  
  
He looks kinda like that one Aphex Twin album, is the thing, and that's  _creepy_. Ya had enough of that kinda smilin' when Rinnosuke was crowin' 'bout accidentally pullin' one over Margatroid. Ya don't need  _stage two_  of it. Dude keeps this up, and his face is gonna collapse into a creeper  _singularity_.  
  
“So, that's lasagna?” Rinnosuke says.  
  
At least it goes away when he's talkin'. Prolly 'cause his face muscles move more. “That's lasagna the  _pasta_ ,” ya say, steppin' back into explanatory mode. “Lasagna the _dish_ is more than just lasagna the pasta. I mean, it's _got_ lasagna the pasta, but it's got other stuff, too, stacked in between, like meat sauce and white sauce and cheese. The meat sauce's just sauce made outta meat, but ya wanna chop the stuff up and cook it with veggies. But, y'know, not alotta veggies. It's a meat-based thing, is what I'm sayin', so whatcha wanna have at the end is a buncha meat with a hint of veggie taste to it.”  
  
“That sounds delicious,” Rumia says.  
  
“I know, right?” ya say, as Rinnosuke's ballpoint makes a skid mark off the page. “Then there's the white sauce—”  
  
Rinnosuke shoves one of his desk piles sideways like he's just spied the teach makin' the rounds and he's been workin' on something extracurricular. “What are you  _doing_  here?” he hisses.  
  
Rumia tilts her head. “I'm not doing anything,” she says.  
  
“No—how did you get  _in_?”  
  
“Was the window open?” ya ask.  
  
“The window was open,” Rumia says.  
  
Rinnosuke does a real good strangulation approximation and headdesks right into his knick-knack heap.  
  
“So, what's up?” ya say, puttin' white sauce on the backburner. Metaphorically. If it's white sauce it's prolly been on the burner already. “Ya make it out the window? There was this crazy stupid mess with a homunculus that wasn't a homunculus and I never got to follow up on you.” Partly 'cause ya didn't know where to look, and partly 'cause ya didn't feel too much like wanderin' outta the no-eatin'-humans zone designated by these walls, but you're not gonna say that aloud.  
  
“I made it out,” says Rumia. She adds, after a mo: “I didn't get blasted.”  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
“'Sweet'?”  
  
“ _Groovy._ ” Ya move on, quick, before anyone busts in 'bout “sayin' things weird” again. “Speakin' of dudes blastin' dudes and dudes  _not_  blastin' dudes, though, your friend Cirno showed up. 'Cept, she seemed to think  _I_  was the dude makin' to blast  _you_.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“'Ah'?”  
  
Rumia tilts her head the other way. Ya get the impression like she's thinkin' real hard 'bout word-mincin', and you've got nothing to back it up, here, but it feels like  _someone_  oughta find that sad,  _somewhere_.  
  
“Cirno gets very excited sometimes,” she says, finally.  
  
“Ya don't say.”  
  
“I  _do_  say.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess ya do. So—What's Up, The Return Of? Just droppin' in to chat, or what? 'Cause that's cool too, though it woulda been nice if you'd done it a lot sooner.” Like when you were gettin' the third degree, maybe.  
  
Rumia tilts her head back to its original tiltage. “Um,” she says, and then, weirdly careful, way more in control than she oughta be with all that bobbin' and floatin' she's been displayin' since the first time ya saw 'er, she lifts her arms straight out to the sides and closes her eyes.  
  
“ _Cumque ultor sanguinis eum fuerit persecutus, non tradent in manus ejus: quia ignorans percussit proximum ejus, nec ante biduum triduumve ejus probatur inimicus._ ”  
  
She says that—all that—all nice and even, like she read it out a book or something. Like she read it again and again till she could read it with her eyes closed.

And then, once she's done readin' it out to you, she puts her arms back down and opens her eyes and looks atcha both like she wants a treat out of it.  
  
Course, you've got  _no clue what she just said_.  
  
“That wasn't just  _real_  old-timey Japanese or something, was it?” ya ask, lookin' over at Rinnosuke for a tick—though, judgin' by the way he's lookin' at  _you_ , he's prolly in the same ship.  
  
Rumia actually looks disappointed. “It's  _Latin_ ,” she says.  
  
And ya shoulda 'spected that, maybe, but it's still enough to set ya slightly steamed. “Latin's a dead language,” ya say, tryin' not to grind it out. “If ya wanna say something and get  _got_ , you've gotta stick with the  _vernacular_.”  
  
“Okay,” says Rumia, and she sticks her arms out again, like she's tryin' to turn herself into that Renaissance sketch. Or an airplane.  
  
“I need you to protect me because I don't want to be blasted,” she says.

And isn't that a kick in the end?

The first urge that goes up and down your spine the first sec is  _cooperation_. You've got the idea, all of a sudden, of shootin' this girl a thumbs-up, sittin' her down a room over, and maybe findin' a thing of cookies for her to munch on while ya weather the storm for 'er—that kinda deal, with you playin' the awesome protagonist protector to her little kid MacGuffin. And then your saner brainparts prevail, 'cause ya remember—this is the girl who wanted to  _eat your face off_.  _Still_  wants, actually. And you're thinkin' that's a pattern of behavior that's got some kinda relevance to the matter at hand, maybe.  
  
So.  
  
“I'm gonna ask this straight up. Didja do something to  _earn_  a blasting?”  
  
“No,” says Rumia.  
  
Ya look at Rinnosuke. Rinnosuke looks at you. Ya look back at Rumia.  
  
“And when ya say 'no,'” ya ask, real careful-like, “do ya mean 'no' meaning 'yes'?”  
  
“'No,'” says Rumia.  
  
Ya look at Rinnosuke again. Rinnosuke looks at you again. Ya look at Rumia again. Rumia looks at something that's over your ear, like the general direction that someone wantin' to rearrange her face with magic explosions would bust in from, hypothetically, and maybe you've just gone screwy real fast but ya feel like if ya tilted your head back and squinted you'd catch something just sorta  _distantly_  related to abashment seepin' into the look she's got on at the mo.  
  
Like, real distant.  
  
Like, not-even-related-by-blood distant.  
  
So-ya-don't-even-really-know-'em-at-all distant.  
  
So-when-ya-bump-into-'em-at-your-dad's-dad's-brother's-crazy-yearly-Christmas-bonanza-it's-sorta-awkward-unless-ya-make-an-effort-otherwise.  
  
Distant.  
  
Which is good enough for a tell, ya think. “Man, you're possibly lyin' to the dude you're  _also askin' for help from_ ,” ya say to Rumia, focusin' the disappointment vibes like you're every parental unit, ever. “That's not just hinky, that's  _douchetastic_.”  
  
“Stop saying words that don't mean anything in Japanese,” Rinnosuke grumps.  
  
Ya look at Rinnosuke again again and  _then_  roll your eyes. “'Real shady,' and 'ultra-characteristic of a douche'—that better? Point is—Rumia. Dude.  _Dude._ ”  
  
“Dude?” Rumia says.  
  
“Dude,” you confirm.  
  
Rumia frowns, and shifts shiftily. “It's an overreaction,” she says. And then, 'cause apparently ya rolled lucky sevens on this playing-mom thing, “I only bit him  _a little_.”  
  
 _Now_  you're gettin' somewhere. “'A little'? How 'a little' is 'a little'?”  
  
Rumia shows ya.  
  
“That's not 'a little,'” ya say. “Also, please don't open your mouth that much at me again; holy _heck_.”  
  
“Is this the first time you've seen a youkai's teeth?” says Rinnosuke.  
  
“Do I  _look_  like I've got a D.D.S.? I've seen flatter fangs in a Rottweiler!” And if Rinnosuke thinks ya missed that I-told-ya-so tone of voice he had goin' on just there, he's got another think comin'. You're just lettin' it slide for now 'cause you've got  _priorities_. “Okay, so—Rumia—do ya just need to hang till this whole thing blows over, or is someone actively gunnin' for ya? 'Cause I don't really have a plan for someone pullin' a Big Bad Wolf on this house of sticks.”  
  
Rumia looks up at you, runnin' her thumb over the right of her maxilla like it's never occurred to her that  _she's_  the one with the funky ivories.   
  
“I  _still_  don't know what you're saying,” she says. “You—”  
  
“I say things weird. Yeah, yeah.” That's your shtick, apparently, as far as this girl's got it. “Okay, lemme try again—are ya bein' chased, at the mo? Is someone on your tail something like  _right now_?”  
  
“Yes,” Rumia says.  
  
“And so basically,” you continue, tryin' real hard to ignore your heartbeat goin'  _up_  your gullet, “if ya don't get hid  _right now_ , the odds of you gettin' blasted start lookin' more and more likely?”  
  
“Yes,” Rumia says. She takes the hand out her mouth and smiles right atcha.  
  
It's a real trustin' smile.  
  
And here's where ya realize ya didn't have a choice in what you were gonna do, straight from the get-go.  
  
“Rinnosuke?”  
  
Rinnosuke's got his cheek in his hand and the look of a dude seein' something real painful happen in slow-mo for the nth time that day. “Yes?” he says.  
  
“What's your feelings on redecoration? 'Cause I'm thinkin' we shove a coupla sticks of furniture in front of the door, maybe, and—”  
  
“I don't think so.”  
  
“Yo, for serious? It's a little kid's life here!”  
  
“She's a  _youkai_. She won't die, even if she  _is_  killed. And I doubt whoever's chasing her would be held off very long by a doorway being blocked off.”  
  
“Okay, okay, fine.” C'mon, Christie, you can do this. “What about—what about one of those little cards? Ya got those? Y'know, with the “will return” and the clock sayin' what time you'll “will return” at? I'm thinkin' we stick one of those in the front window and hope for Passover, and then—and ya don't actually have those kinda cards here, do ya.”  
  
Rinnosuke shakes his head. “She'd come in anyway,” he says, “and probably help herself to my tea.”  
  
“Nuts,” ya say. And then ya actually process that, and ya  _squint_.  
  
“Y'know,” ya say, “the way ya said that just now—it kinda sounds like ya know the  _who_  comin' to do the blastin'.”  
  
Rinnosuke fails to get cowed by your totally threatful squinty-face. “I can't say I  _know_  who's coming, but I have my suspicions.”  
  
“Well, maybe have your suspicions at a really good hidin' space, Mac—while you're havin' your suspicions.”  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't even  _blink_ , lookin' atcha. Then he  _does_  blink, looks at Rumia (still wearin' that everything's-gonna-be-hunky-dory smile), looks at you again, and sighs.  
  
“If I were you, I'd try the next room,” he says.  
  
“Wanna be more specific?” ya say.  
  
“If I were you, I'd try the next room  _right now_.”  
  
And he's lookin' out the window, ya notice.  
  
And maybe ya don't have the view that he does, not from this angle, but  _mathmen_.  
  
“ _Shrikes!_ ” Ya pick up Rumia underarm, like she's the world's bitingest football. “Remember, Mac, quislingism is verboten!”  
  
“ _What_  is  _what_?”  
  
“Don't  _snitch_!” ya tell 'im, and then you're gone

* * *

 

Okay, maybe it's over the top, “gone”, 'specially seein' as you're just  _one room over_. Still, ya might as well be a state away, considerin' how little thinkin' ya give re: Rinnosuke and his general Rinnosukin', once you're past the doorway. You've got other stuff to worry 'bout right now, is the thing. All your thoughts are focused on one goal, and that's gettin' Rumia tucked away before someone opens up in 'er a new breathin' tube. It's a real noble effort, in your opinion.

Problem is, this room you're in now? Not exactly prime hide-and-go-seek property. Problem is, it's got too much  _stuff_. Bookshelves—more of 'em—line the walls down the side, proudly displayin' their contents, which is basically an attitude counter what you're lookin' for at the mo. There's a coupla wall-shelves, too, but they're even  _less_  help, what with their knick-knacks that Rumia's way too big to hide behind unless ya figure out how to shrink things real small real quick, which ya prolly  _won't_. Then there's the floor...  
  
“What are you doing?” says Rumia.  
  
Ya look up from toe level, where you've got your cheek to the wood. “No dice— _trapdoorless_ ,” ya say. But what were ya 'spectin'—a serdab?  
  
And now, from the room ya 'scaped from: the sound of  _murmurin'_.   
  
Yeah, you're gonna sock Rinnosuke for dead-endin' you, once this is done. Assumin' you're not just atoms. Yo, Christie,  _think_! What else is there? There's a coupla chairs in the corner, but those're no good, obvs. A table, a window—  
  
A table?  
  
Hold on a  _tick_!  
  
The table goes with the chairs, which makes sense—ya oughta have a sittin'-down place, in a room fulla books—but the real low light that's comin' out that tiny window up there nearly had ya missin' something ultra-important that's right in front your eyes. It's the  _shape_. Beneath that tacky gingham thing that Rinnosuke prolly picked up like he picked up that clock, the whole table deal's a slice too  _cuboidy_  to fit the norm. And when ya yank the cloth away, ya find you're  _right_.  
  
Suddenly, you're real cool with Rinnosuke bein' the laziest bum in all of Japan. 'Cause what you've got here  _isn't a table at all_. At some point, before ya got here, Rinnosuke took an old, open crate, stuck it on its side, threw on a bad tablecloth, and  _called it a day_.  
  
And that open face, there, and the space inside—that's big enough to fit a kid youkai, and then some.  
  
Course, even if ya shove Rumia in there and drape the tablecloth back on, it's not exactly a stroke of genius. One breeze the wrong way in, and whoops—that's all  _she_  wrote. Maybe you'd've more luck directin' Rumia at the window itself.  
  
That tiny window. That  _real small_  window. Rumia can contort through  _that_  in time, right?

Yeah, forget it. It prolly  _is_  big enough, is the thing, but the whole idea has the phrase “temptin' fate” written all over it in fat permanent marker. The last thing ya want is whoever's huntin' Rumia to come in and see their quarry playin' Winnie-the-Pooh. “The box, Rumia, pronto!” ya hiss, tossin' the gingham back on top over.  
  
“The box?” says Rumia.  
  
And you've got  _no time_  to wait for her to get it, not with the footsteps at the edge of hearin' doin' a crescendo. “ _In!_ ” ya say, and ya  _shove_.  
  
'Cept ya shove too hard.  
  
And ya  _know_  ya shove to hard, and here's how ya know: Rumia goes in the box. And that's accordin' to plan, actually, Rumia in the box, 'cause ya actually  _had_  a plan here, and this isn't just the worst improv session ever. Rumia bein' in the box? Item one on the list, checked off. Check. Double check. Check-a-flippin'- _roony_.  
  
You tumblin' in after her?  _Not so much._  
  
'Cause—ya had a  _plan_  here, seriously! You were gonna get Rumia in the box (check). And then—and this is the real clever part, the part ya felt all kindsa triumphant in that moment for comin' up with, even if ya  _did_  steal it from a popcorn flick—and then, you were gonna  _open the window_. Not for the sake of gettin' out yourself, of course (ya weren't sure that thing was gonna let  _Rumia_  through; it sure wasn't gonna let  _you_ ), but because if you're chasin' someone into a room, and the room's lookin' somehow someoneless, and the window's open,  _where do ya think they've gone_?  
  
Through the window.  
  
 _Through the window._  
  
And if was clever; it was  _totally_  clever, and the chaser was gonna stare and swear and stomp on off outta there, defeated, and the  _chasee_  was gonna get outta the box and thank you for savin' 'er, and even  _Rinnosuke_  was gonna be impressed, 'cept none of that is happenin', now, and none of that is  _gonna_  happen, 'cause the window's still  _shut_  and  _you are in the box with Rumia_.  
  
And those footsteps?  
  
The footsteps aren't so much crescendoin' now as much as they are  _straight up in the same room as you_.  
  
Ya twist your neck, checkin' your tablecloth curtain. Or boxcloth, maybe. Whatever ya wanna call it, it fell back to drapin' over the openin' after you, so at least ya can't instantly be seen, stuck in this hidey-hole. Or at least ya can't be seen  _well_ , barrin' a change in light or a bad breeze, which is a thought you've already covered that's way more important now that  _you're_  doin' the hidin'. You've got your back against the inside wall, your head bent over, your knees tucked up, and all of that could be okay maybe if you were  _right side up_  but the universe is  _laughin'_  at you, at the mo, so of course you're  _not_ even that, either.  
  
Oh, and Rumia's there too, sittin' right in front of ypi, between you and the way-too-fluttery thing of gingham that anyone has to just swipe at for a little if they wanna uncover the prize inside. She looks a lot more comfy than you, seein' as she's  _small_. And she seems like she's figured out the whole clammin'-up deal that your whole hidin' plan kinda hinged on, so  _that's_  good, too, at least, maybe.  
  
So maybe all you've gotta do here is shut up, and wait up, and maybe also not sneeze. That's easy, right?  
  
The footsteps stop.  
  
“Where is she?”  
  
The dude that says that says that calm—casual, even. Like she's lookin' for a single book or knick-knack, 'cross all the ones that're adornin' this pad.  
  
It's not Marisa.  
  
“Where is who?” ya hear Rinnosuke respond.  
  
“Your guest,” the dude says.  
  
It's not Margatroid, either, but ya didn't think it'd be Margatroid as much as ya thought it'd be Marisa. Marisa'd make  _sense_. Rumia didn't wanna be blasted. Who does blastin'? Marisa does blastin'.  
  
But it's not Marisa.  
  
“There's nobody here,” says Rinnosuke.  
  
“Yes, I can tell there's nobody here,” says the mystery dude. “That doesn't tell me where your guest  _is_ , though.”  
  
“She's probably outside, then.”  
  
“She isn't outside. I would have seen her while I was flying in.”  
  
Wait. What?  
  
Something real outrageous just got said just now, but Rinnosuke takes it in like it's no big thing. “Well, she might be farther away from the shop,” he says.  
  
“So you let her wander into the Forest of Magic alone? That's irresponsible, even for you.”  
  
“It's not as if I'm in control of her. She comes and goes as she likes. It reminds me of someone else who's fond of doing something very similar.”  
  
Ms. Mystery Dude makes a real mysterious hummin' sound, and on that note, yo—Rinnosuke's gettin' the nth degree here, but what was Ms. Mystery Dude 'spectin' 'im to do, pin Rumia down till she arrived? With that expectation hangin' over your head you'da let Rumia out the window on  _principle_. Which maybe is like what ya shoulda done here, instead of the box.  
  
Rumia's movin' her back only real slight, like dudes do when they're nice and light with their breathin'. Either the gravity of the sitch hasn't hit yet or she's got a whole lotta confidence in the plan ya already hecked up.  
  
“Besides,” Rinnosuke adds, when Ms. Mystery Dude doesn't make to say any more, “you've had more experience with Outsiders, so you should know what they're like. With youkai so uncommon in the Outside World, they don't understand how dangerous Gensokyo can be.”  
  
Wait. What?  
  
Hold up, why's Rinnosuke talkin' 'bout Outsiders? Rumia's an Outsider? Rumia's not an Outsider. Didja miss something here?  
  
Ms. Mystery Dude makes that hummin' sound again. “Too bad,” she says, “I wanted to see the person Marisa let use her Mini-Hakkero.”  
  
“I don't think it's so much that Marisa  _let_  her use her Mini-Hakkero as it is that there wasn't any other choice.”  
  
“She used it on her first try, though—so Marisa said. I thought that was interesting, but now it looks like she already got cocky and left.”  
  
The hey? Ya thought that “guest” talk was all euphemism, but she wasn't euphemizin' at all. She wasn't talkin' 'bout Rumia; she was talkin' 'bout _you_. They were  _both_  talkin' 'bout you.  
  
Why the hey're they  both talkin' 'bout  _you_?  
  
'Cause like, yeah, sure, you're awesome, but ya haven't up here built your rep yet. It's _way_ too early for your sheer awesome to be super-apparent through just plain  _hearsay_. So why the hey's this dude—who ya don't even  _know_ ; that's the  _point_ —talkin' 'bout  _you_?  
  
And then ya stop wonderin' so loud why anyone's talkin' 'bout anything, 'cause Ms. Mystery Dude starts footsteppin' again, and her footsteps go next to the box, and her footsteps go in  _front_  of the box, and then ya don't hafta count footsteps anymore 'cause she's  _throwin' shadows on your curtain_.  
  
There's a sound like someone either scrapin' a chair over or puttin' teeth through a coffee grinder. Your heartbeat decides the gullet's becomin' a real stagnant environ and relocates itself into your skull. And then there's a coupla thumps from above like someone puttin' their elbows on a box that is also the only thing separatin' you from a guillotinin', and your heartbeat straight up  _stops_.  
  
“Have you told her yet?” goes Ms. Mystery Dude's voice.  
  
There's alotta quiet, followin' that question. Like an infinite plane of quiet, goin' out everywhere forever.

Ya hold your breath. Rumia doesn't.  
  
“No,” says Rinnosuke.  
  
“I see. So you don't want her to know.”  
  
Wait. What?  
  
Hey, no, wait. Doesn't want ya knowin'  _what_?  
  
“I don't mind her finding out,” says Rinnosuke, and  _what_? “It's not a secret.”  
  
“But you haven't told her yet, right? And you probably don't want her to know, either.”  
  
“Which doesn't make it a secret.” Which doesn't make  _what_  a secret? “If she asks, I'll tell her the truth.”  
  
“Except she isn't  _going_  to ask.”  
  
And Rinnosuke suddenly doesn't say anything, and this is suddenly totally seriously messed up, maybe.  
  
“You know what Outsiders are like,” says Ms. Mystery Dude, and her voice is megalo-deliberate. Tracin'-the-letters-in-elementary-school deliberate. “With youkai that uncommon in the Outside World, they don't understand how dangerous Gensokyo is. She's not going to ask because she's not going to  _think_  of asking.”  
  
Another track of silence, this one goin' on for miles and miles and miles.  
  
You can hear forever.  
  
Then: “Well, it doesn't look like she's here, though,” she says, whiplashin' back to casual. “I guess I'll have to come by another time, if she doesn't wander off any farther.”  
  
Rinnosuke makes a vaguish accedey kinda noise that mighta sounded like words, in an alternate dimension without the dispiritude.  
  
“Oh, and one more thing,” Ms. Mystery Dude says.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
And that's when a leg bursts into your boxspace in a sweepin' knee-jerk that misses you by an _inch_ , misses Rumia by  _less_ , and thunks up into the inside underside with enough oomph to send the whole deal rockin' even with the both of you weighin' it down.  
  
“Since she's your guest, that makes her your responsibility, right? So make sure she doesn't get mixed up with any dangerous youkai.”  
  
The leg goes away with that same kinda chock-fulla-meanin' deliberateness, the boxcloth flutterin' back down ahead of it. Ya hear the sound of a chair scrapin' in a direction that's a lot more agreeable.

Then the footsteps go away till they aren't footsteps anymore.

Which is a good thing, totally, but also a good thing you're kinda not able to appreciate, at the mo. Forget heartbeats; forget breathin'—you're  _dead_. Or at least close enough, considerin' all the years that went off the end of your lifespan with that foot. Ya got made— _first thing_ , prolly—and the only reason ya weren't blasted into individual corpuscles was 'cause your executioner got  _capricious_.  
  
You'd get to shakin', 'cept your brain's not up to even  _that_.  
  
“She's gone,” says Rinnosuke. He doesn't shout it all out, but in this buncha quiet there's alotta room for his voice to stretch its legs. Rumia gets a handle on the deal between the two of you first—like she even  _lost_  the handle; ya don't even know—and makes in a real Rumia fashion, practically just floatin' out the box.  
  
Ya wait a tick, in case Ms. Mystery's plannin' on doublin' back and slammin' through the wall like she's got juice mix to sell, and when nobody starts screamin', ya follow after, the boxdrape drapin' over ya. See? Ya  _did_  die, maybe. All ya see's your own stupid gingham shroud.  
  
Or Rinnosuke. All ya see's Rinnosuke, lookin' down at you like he didn't know what he was thinkin' he was gonna see, but  _this wasn't it_. “You were  _both_  in  _there_?” he says.  
  
You're suddenly real  _peeved_. “You're the one who just called out to us, Mac—don't lose it 'cause we actually  _showed up_.”  
  
You've just been through a real crazy experience and you're unloadin' on the dude that helped ya. You'll prolly feel bad about this later.  
  
Rinnosuke rubs his face, like he's tryin' to massage open his pores to get the words out. Or maybe he's just still reelin'. “No. I mean,” he says, “why were the two of you in the  _box_?”  
  
“Where else would we  _be_?”  
  
“I was expecting you to guide Rumia through the  _window_!”  
  
What, seriously? “I didn't think she'd fit through.”  
  
“She'd fit. When people aren't walking into my shop without being invited, they're  _flying_  in. That's probably the same window Rumia entered by in the first place.”  
  
Ya look at Rumia.  
  
“It is,” Rumia confirms, real cheerful.  
  
“Yeah, well, I didn't wanna risk it.  _Sucks_  to your honey.”  
  
“Honey?”  
  
“Uh—it's from a book. Never mind. Guess ya don't have that one.”  
  
“No—as you can see, most of the literature I collect is focused on imparting knowledge. Textbooks, instruction manuals—”  
  
Ya  _know_  all this, is the thing. This place is basically wall to wall books, and you've been stuck here a lot longer than ya oughta've already. Decidin' to pick something off the shelves to deal chronocide with didn't take alotta deep thought.  
  
Problem is—like he said—like he's  _still_  sayin', not catchin' on that ya zoned out years ago—it's all textbooks and instruction manuals, and most of them're outta date hilarious. Even the stuff on computer is  _Lovelace_  old, and—  
  
Wait. Why're ya thinkin' 'bout  _books_?  
  
“Yo, Mac,” ya say.  
  
Rinnosuke's lit lesson trips over the front of itself, landin' face first into the silence. The dude who was  _speakin'_  it stares at you from somewhere in the middle of a diphthong. “Yes?” he says, once he's got his wordage back.  
  
“I've just got this mega-crazy train of thought, so deal with me for a tick, okay? Check it.” Ya hold out your hand like you're twistin' the idea. “Ya didn't think I was gonna be in that box.”  
  
“No,” says Rinnosuke. He follows that up real quick: “I expected you wouldn't need to hide, once you helped Rumia escape.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, plans and mice and men. But—yo, I dunno, but maybe ya didn't think about it? Like maybe ya came in and ya saw just, y'know, no me and no Rumia, and ya figured we  _both_  made it out or something. And so maybe 'cause ya  _thought_  that, maybe ya said alotta stuff ya wouldn'ta said if you'd  _known_  we were boxed up actually.”  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't say anything.  
  
“And, y'know, I'm just  _sayin'_ , but—that dude you were talkin' to, she actually  _knew_  we were in the box. Like maybe she had some crazy intuition, or something, or maybe it's just 'cause I don't really  _do_  sneakiness. I dunno. But she said alotta stuff, too. 'Cept, she said it  _knowin'_.”  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't say anything some more.  
  
Ya look at 'im. He's just standin' there, starin' atcha like he has been, 'cept that's not right, 'cause somewhere along you talkin' he went _off_ in all the ways. His mouth is apart just a crack, like he's tryin' to get air on his tongue without bein' real obvious about it. His head is tilted back just the  _minutest_  of degrees, like he suspects he's gonna start bleedin' from his faceholes but isn't yet real sure.  
  
And his eyes—well, that's why it's not right, right? 'Cause there's something a millimeter off in his focus. He's not starin' at you. He's starin' _through_.

“So what I'm gettin' at is this, Mac,” ya say, before ya can decide not to say it. “ _What is it that I don't know?_ ”  
  
For a tick, ya think maybe Rinnosuke hasn't heard ya—like maybe he's so far into his head he's gone deaf, or something. But then his eyes slide back to front and he's lookin' straight atcha again, and ya  _know_  he's heard. Still doesn't say anything, but ya  _know_. Does he think you're gonna drop the subject entire if he keeps his yap shut?  
  
You're not gonna drop the subject entire if he keeps his yap shut. You're not even gonna drop your  _lookin'_. At the sec, you're totally just fine usin' your eyebeams to pin Rinnosuke down like some psychokinetic lepidopterist Zaroff. “Dead air, Mac,” ya say, and ya don't even care if he gets it.  
  
But maybe he  _does_  get it, is the thing, 'cause the words barely have time to hang before Rinnosuke suddenly loses the starin' contest. His eyes dip—and then gather somewhere up over your right ear before findin' your face again, and by the time the round trip's done, there's this real weird colorless  _look_  that's faded out over the remainder of his mug. He opens his mouth and ya aren't sure he isn't gonna upchuck or conk out standin' or pull a Hendrix and go for broke.  
  
“I'm half youkai,” Rinnosuke says instead, and that's a real relief. You weren't lookin' forwards to rollin' 'im on his side—  
  
Wait.  _What?_  
  
“Sorry, Mac, couldja run by me that one more time? Not sure I heard that right,” ya say.  
  
Rinnosuke's whole  _countenance_  does the whole dippin' thing this time, before it catches itself and goes back to solid. “I'm half youkai,” he says again.  
  
“Ya mean like Rumia?” ya ask, and look over. Rumia, meanwhile, is lookin' over at the both of  _you_ , which makes total sense, seein' as you two dudes are the ones makin' the most noise. She's still smilin' like a dope—but even _her_ smile's gone droopy at the edges.  
  
Lotsa faces collapsin' today.  
  
Rinnosuke, though, looks  _affronted_ , now, and maybe in a little pain. Like someone punched 'im in the throat and he's feelin' like he didn't deserve it. “I'm  _half_  youkai,” he says for a third time, stressin' the fractiony part, “and I'm—”  
  
He quits talkin' for a sec. Shuts his lips and takes a deep breath through his nose.  
  
“I don't harm humans,” he says, a whole lot calmer. “That is—I'm not in the habit of chasing down human beings, like other youkai, but I understand if you feel uncomfortable, just the same. I'll ask you to bear my company for now, until I can find someone to take you to the Hakurei Shrine. It should be fine if we spend time in different rooms. The shop is small, but it shouldn't be that difficult—”  
  
“Yeah, gonna hafta break up your speech right there, Mac.” Ya lift up a hand, doin' just that. “See, 'cause, I've gotta ask ya—what the holy heck are ya  _talkin'_  'bout, even?”  
  
Rinnosuke, dislodged from his grand address, looks at ya like  _you're_  the one who needs a lie-down here. “Don't you understand what I've said?” he says, even more affrontedly. “I'm—”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you're part youkai. Got it.” And now that all this is all clear, maybe the both of you can get all up on with the plans for Rumia-guardin' or something?  
  
“ _'Got it'?_ ”  
  
Or guess not. “ _Got it,_ ” ya say, in a way ya hope equals puttin' it in bold and underlinin' and a slideshow-size font. “Look—don't take this for bein' narcissistic, but when that dude ya had over started baitin' us into this secret stuff, I thought this was gonna be about me. Like maybe someone out there was linin' _me_ up for a human sacrifice, or gunnin' for _me_ 'cause of some Outsider especiality. I thought this was gonna be about  _me_. 'Cept then it wasn't, so...”  
  
Ya shrug.  
  
“Then,” Rinnosuke says, his voice doin' some breaky wavy coloratura thing, “me being part youkai...”  
  
Ya shrug again. “Well, I mean,” ya point out, “it's like, yeah, sure, but—whatever, y'know, right?”  
  
Rinnosuke considers this. His mouth twitches open. “You,” he says.  
  
Ya shrug a third time, in case the first two didn't take.  
  
No,” says Rinnosuke. He switches tracks. “I,” he says.  
  
Uh, maybe a fourth time? Shouldja do a fourth time here?  
  
Ya do a fourth time, just-in-casin' for the just-in-case.  
  
Rinnosuke watches it, his eyes bouncin' off the top of your right shoulder.  
  
And then he turns around and walks real steady out the room.  
  
Huh.  
  
“Uh,” ya call out, leanin' into doorview, “yo, Mac. You okay?”  
  
Rinnosuke doesn't answer. Rinnosuke's standin' over his desk, hands flat planted, his back goin' up and down farther in both directions than Rumia's did.  
  
“Rinnosuke?” ya try out.  
  
The back stops doin' the up-and-down thing, just for a sec, before resumin'. “Yes?” Rinnosuke says.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I'm askin' 'cause ya don't  _look_  okay. Or sound it. You're not emanatin' okayness, is what I'm sayin'.”  
  
“I forgot you weren't from Gensokyo,” Rinnosuke says. “That's all.”  
  
“What, for serious?” ya say. “But I've got the kicks and everything. And the jeans. And the distinct not-from-Gensokyo mindset.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“So how'dja manage  _that_ , all of a sudden?”  
  
Rinnosuke's head falls, and then stops fallin', reachin' real quick the limit of fallage that the neck it's stuck to'd be cool with. “I can't imagine,” he says.  
  
And ya watch 'im like that, him playin' statue 'cept for his breathin', waitin' for him to straighten up and get back to the whole Rumia biz.  
  
'Cept he doesn't.  
  
So ya guess you'll have to kick-start his butt. “Yo, Mac—”  
  
“Please stop.”  
  
And ya  _do_  stop, 'cause—maybe it's the voice or the stance gettin' to you, but just those coupla buncha syllables feel  _weird_  straightforwards. “Rinnosuke?” ya say.  
  
Rinnosuke shakes his head. Ya see it from the back, and it's a lot better than more dippin'. But not a lot better. “I'm sorry,” he says, “but—could you please stop  _talking_ , just for a little while?”  
  
“Yeah,” ya say. “Sure, Mac.”  
  
And ya shuffle outta doorview, too, just in case, which is a  _new_  just-in-case, totally off from the old ones.  
  
“Man,” ya say, mutterin' it out for no one particular, “what's got  _him_  bummed out?”  
  
“It's you.”  
  
Rumia's voice sends ya makin' like a springbok, nearly, which is double weird 'specially seein' as one, she's right  _there_ —not hidin' or anything—and two, you were just considerin' her a sec ago. Multiple times, even. “What?” ya say, beatin' your heart rate down.  
  
“It's you,” says Rumia.  
  
And she smiles ya up, and ya  _know_  she's not gonna 'splain any more than that if you're not gonna ask, first.  
  
“ _What's_  me?” ya ask, first. “Ya mean, it's me—I'm here? 'Cause I figured ya noticed that sooner. I mean, we were in the same box and everything, right?”  
  
“Are being bummed out and being sad the same?”  
  
Whoa. Some sudden swerviness there. “Uh, sorta?” ya say. “Maybe? Bummed-outness is a real subtle thing. Or outbummedness. Or whatever ya wanna call it. I guess if ya wanna fit 'bein' sad' under that umbrella, no one's gonna stop ya. Why?”  
  
“You made him bummed out.”  
  
Huh?  
  
Yo, wait. 'Scuse?  
  
“Wanna spell that one out for me?” ya say to Rumia, real careful. “Not that I'm tossin' it out straight out, but a dude's gotta proportion their belief to the evidence. If you're gonna start shootin' off some serious j'accuses every which way—”  
  
“You made him give you his secret.”  
  
“What—ya mean that him-bein'-part-youkai biz? Well, yeah. I mean, there  _was_  a secret, so I had to snuff it out. No big, right?” No big. “I thought it was gonna be something real world-rockin', but it didn't have anything to do with me at all. Lotta dramatic buildup for squat.”  
  
“You threw it away,” says Rumia.  
  
“Threw what away now?”  
  
“You made him give you his secret,” says Rumia, cheery smile set real square on her mug, “and then you threw it away.”  
  
“Hey, no, wait up.” Ya palms-out your hands in the universal gesture of 'stop! In the name of sanity.' “I didn't  _throw it out_. That's like the  _opposite_  of what I did. If I'd  _thown it out_  I woulda just forgotten it, striaght off, and I  _know_  the info's still up there in my brainspace. I didn't  _throw it out_. I  _filed it away_. There's a diff.”  
  
Rumia says nothing and smiles.  
  
“Look, for serious. I'm not the bad guy here,” ya say.  
  
Rumia says more nothing and more-smiles.  
  
“Am I the bad guy here?”  
  
“You helped me to not get blasted,” Rumia says.  
  
“Right! Right.” Ya nod. “So I'm  _not_  the bad guy here.”  
  
Rumia goes back to nothing-sayin'.  
  
“In fact,” ya venture, “seein' as I contributed a bunchload in the whole keepin'-a-dude-from-gettin'-blasted 'sperience that just went down, I'd say I'm the  _opposite_  of the bad guy here. I'm the  _good_  guy here. Right?”  
  
“You helped me to not get blasted,” Rumia says.  
  
“So I'm the good guy here.”  
  
“You helped me to not get blasted,” Rumia says.  
  
“So I'm the good guy.”  
  
“ _Non recipit stultus verba prudentiæ, nisi ea dixeris quæ versantur in corde ejus._ ”  
  
Ya stare down at Rumia, waitin' for the subtitles.  
  
Ya don't get any.  
  
“It's  _Latin_ ,” says Rumia, and the smilin' she's doin' keeps on keepin' on.


	6. Reference List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the bad decisions I have made, this is probably the most interesting.

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